Prince's Angel
by Star-Of-Radiance
Summary: Curious, inquisitive Gabrielle Delacour thought travelling with her sister's family to Egypt might be fun. Instead, she ends up in a cursed tomb, dies and is reborn to the world of Ice and Fire. As Seraena Veltaris, plots and schemes forces her to Westeros as the bride of the Dragon Prince. With a madman, fanatics and the Dead rising, will magic be enough to save them all?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer : I don't own anything from Harry Potter or A Song of Ice and Fire. That's George R.R. Martin and J.K Rowling. And though I know George Martin has mentioned that he dislikes fanfiction, but he's always so supportive of a 'what if' situation as another fanfic author so kindly puts it, and this is one of them! So please don't sue, I'm not making any money from this!**

* * *

 **Prologue**

The first thing Seraena, once called Gabrielle, Gabrielle Delacour in another life, remembered was warmth.

In this new world, many things would be different. She didn't have to see the unfamiliar faces gazing down in awe, and gasping at the sight of her, and feeling them lift her now-tiny body into the air to know that.

 _What happened?_

Gabrielle could not voice those words out loud as she felt her entire body being lifted into the air. She assumed that some dark or bizarre magic, at least, was occurring, placing her consciousness within the body of some poor infant, causing her to possess the innocent child. After all, what other explanation could there be?

It must've been the amulet. She could have cursed out loud. Gabrielle had gone to Egypt, with Fleur, her beloved, much-adored older sister, Bill, her wonderful brother-in-law and their precious children Victoire, Dominique and Louis. She remembered going to the House of Life, and Ancient Egyptian fortress base for practitioners of ancient magic. The head mage or the Chief Lector as they called him, who looked even older than Albus Dumbledore _(was that even possible?)_ the late headmaster of Hogwarts, had given her that amulet.

When the invitation handed by her sister and brother-in-law came, Gaby was excited. It wasn't the prospect of gawking at rotting corpses, partially bandaged or grotesquely mutated, or digging out ancient treasures meant only for the deceased. No, what she really wanted was to go to the House of Life, the ancient order of magicians which had stood ever since the days of the pharaohs.

Now, she regretted it.

Gabrielle's eagerness for new knowledge and adventure outshone her usual shy self. She had been stuck at the hospital, brewing everything from Wolfsbane, Skele-gro to Blood-replenishing and Pepper-Up potions. She had treated countless patients and was eagerly looking to get away for the summer. Of course it was sweltering hot in Egypt, but it was a small price to pay for new knowledge and adventure.

But no price could ever compensate for taking her away from the ones she loved the most and the only life she had ever known.

* * *

She had no fears of curses and unnatural hexes and jinxes as she knew Bill was an excellent curse-breaker. But she wasn't looking for gold or mummies.

"Just what do you want with the Chief Lector?" Bill asked, confused. "I want knowledge," Gaby said, sounding surprised. "I want to learn. There are things that the Ancients keep to themselves. I want to find them out."

Bill shook his head. "Should've been in Ravenclaw," he muttered.

Gaby didn't know what he meant, but soon they approached Heliopolis, the ancient city.

"I want to learn everything the ancients kept," she explained. "Everything wizards and Muggles forgot. The ancients had magic the likes of which we can't imagine. So powerful, so raw, so..."

"Dangerous." Bill and Fleur both said, bluntly.

"Yes. But more than that." Gaby said. Bill shook his head again. "Gabrielle- you do realise that magic practiced by the ancients- and the House of Life- is like trapezing on a rope over a five-hundred foot drop with fire? It's volatile, and dangerous-"

"And yet there have always been witches and wizards who could do it," Gabrielle said evenly. "The wand is a European invention, and witches from Asia, the Americas and Africa have always been able to do magic without one. Or with a staff, or a sorcerer's ring."

The headquarters or First Nome of the House of Life, lay in Heliopolis, which had been concealed from any Muggles and unwelcome outsiders. The Chief Lector eagerly complied and answered all their questions (unusual since they did not usually permit outsiders to see their wonders), but throughout the meeting, his eyes kept shifting back to Gaby. As if he saw something.

Just as the acolyte was about to lead them away, the Chief Lector grabbed Gabrielle's arm. "Remember, child." He whispered. "When Winter approaches and the Long Night comes, the Dragons will be reborn in fire and blood. When all hope seems lost, let this be your protection." He placed an amulet in her palm.

It was a curious thing. A dragon of silver, in different style and design than what she had seen and read about in most cultures, including Egyptian, curling itself as a chain so that it would coil comfortably around her throat, holding a carved red jewel like a huge drop of blood, from which another dragon framed it.

 _Dragons,_ Gaby thought.

Bill's younger brother worked with dragons- and adored them. She rarely ever saw him, but on the occassions that they met, he did his best to answer every question she had about rearing, breeding and training dragons, as well as healing their various ailments. She had written down every word he said and memorised everything. She even learnt how to brew dragon tonic- by combining one feather from an eagle owl, three feathers from a peacock and three warts from a giant purple toad in a cauldron.

But why did he give her this amulet?

* * *

She stared at it throughout the tour of the tomb. It was better than seeing the grotesque skeletons of tomb robbers hit by various curses, jinxes and hexes.

The Chief Lector said that that would be her protection- and salvation- whatever he meant by that.

It was dark in the tomb. It was dank and it was nasty. The stone-cold smell of damp, heat _and_ death filled her nostrils, and Fleur kept a strong hold on her children. It was too dark.

Then suddenly, a strange sound emerged.

Gaby curiously looked away.

"Did you hear that?" She asked Fleur in French. Fleur looked at her strangely. "Hear what?"

Gabrielle frowned. "It sounds like... Hissing."

Fleur looked at her even more strangely.

"We have snake-repelling charms, so don't you worry about it." She replied, brushing it off, though Gabrielle could easily see her uneasiness.

Gaby frowned further, but decided against it. Still, the hissing was loud. And she couldn't help but feel as if she was being... Watched.

She tried to shrug off the feeling.

Victoire and Louis tried to chat amicably with their father, who attempted in vain to keep their spirits up. Dominique snuggled closer to her mother. And Gabrielle... Gabrielle still felt uneasy.

"The tomb's that way." Bill pointed his lit wand up ahead.

Fleur frowned in the darkness. "Just how deep does this go?" She asked, peering in the dark.

Bill tried to reassure her. "Only a few more metres. No more of those skeletons."

Gaby tried not to shudder. The tomb robbers that grew an extra arm, or an extra head, or other grotesque deformities... She had best not to think about it. Gabrielle preferred healing and defensive magic. She suspected that while the children might be fascinated, they would be having nightmares for at least a month.

She clutched her amulet and her wand.

The hissing persisted.

Then she couldn't stand it anymore.

As if by an unknown force, she turned to the right. Ignoring Fleur, Bill and the children, Gaby saw another corridor.

 _"Lumos."_ She whispered. Her wand up ahead, Gabrielle ventured towards the tunnel.

 _Strange,_ she thought. She hurried down the short corridor.

Then, she saw a mass of... Something.

No- leopards. Leopards feasting on. Her hand flew to her mouth.

A human corpse.

But that wasn't all. The leopards raised their heads, and Gabrielle nearly screamed.

No, she _did_ scream, which was a mistake.

They were two creatures. She'd been mistaken because their heads had been placed together while they ate. Their lower bodies were all leopard, but their heads and necks were snakes.

Serpopards, the House of Life mage called them.

"Get out of here!" Gaby shrieked. The serpopards hissed and lunged, but she managed to blast them back with a shield charm. They hissed.

Gabrielle didn't waste any more time. She turned, running.

"Gaby?" Fleur gasped. "What's wrong, what's-"

"Serpopards- we need to get out of here!"

Bill's eyes widened. "Everyone- the exit is that way!" He said, pointing. "I'll deal with them."

"No!" Fleur gasped. Dominque cried out. _"Daddy!"_

 _"Go!"_ Bill wasn't taking no for an answer. The serpopards came rushing back but he shot a nasty hex at one of them.

It barely registered. Hissing, their snake-eyes full of hate, the serpopards advanced.

"Wait!" Gaby shouted. She ran back, ignoring Fleur's screams and placed her hand at the amulet.

 _Whenever you need protection, it will be there,_ the head mage said.

Gabrielle was desperate. She didn't know what she was supposed to do, but she clutched the amulet. The hieroglyphs on the wall seemed to glow strangely as she ran past. As if sending coded signals that she didn't understand, that she didn't have time for. Bill was putting up a valiant fight but even he wouldn't be enough. It seemed the serpopards were immune to most defensive magic.

And suddenly a red beam of light shot through the air, and blasted the serpopards back. The pyramid began to shake.

She barely registered Fleur screaming out her name, and Bill's shouts, when blocks of heavy limestone fell on top of her.

That was the last thing she remembered. Everything had went black.

* * *

Some _protection._ Gabrielle would scoff if she could.

Somehow, she was a baby again. Once this magic wore off, or she found another way to reverse this, she would never again trust those mages!

Furiously, the now-newly born baby that contained the mind and spirit of Gabrielle Delacour struggled in her baby blankets and squirmed.

Her new name was Seraena. Seraena Veltaris. She learnt that when she first opened her eyes. To a new life. A new world.

When she came into the world, she realised she was wrapped up in blankets and felt very warm. Gabrielle had tried to groan. Was she in hospital?

Where was she?

She tried to move, only to find that she wrapped tighter than she normally would have thought. This can't be right.

Had Bill and Fleur managed to get the children out? Was she now in hospital?

She tried to squirm, only to flail helplessly.

"She's breathtaking," a woman whispered. Gaby tried to ascertain the source of that sound, but the light in front of her was too bright. She was shocked at how sensitive her eyes were. _How long have I been out?_

A sharp inhalation was heard. "It's true. I've never seen an infant as beautiful as this," the woman whispered. "Look at her. She glows!"

Gaby wanted to retort. _She glows,_ indeed! She was a Veela-witch after all. But wait, why was the woman calling her a baby? What was going on?

Gabrielle wanted to scream when she felt something shift, lifting her from beneath. She felt weightless, as light as a feather, and the hands holding her were gigantic.

Something was definitely not right.

Then Gaby's eyes made out the blurry image of a woman, whose face was right above her. She was stunned.

She was a very lovely woman, beautiful in a way which really reminded Gabrielle of her grandmother's people. Well, not in the same level, but very close. Anyone who had never seen a real Veela would think she was the most beautiful woman they had ever seen, with her pure silver hair and eyes of... Violet?

Gaby blinked. _Whoever heard of violet eyes..._

"Lord Ayrmidon must be told, my lady." someone else spoke from beside her. "He will be pleased no doubt. This is his first daughter."

That was when Gaby realised that this lady was not only right above her, she was larger than her. Gaby felt... Small. When she tried to open her mouth, to ask who they were and what was going on, but all that came out of her mouth was a whine.

 _What in the world?!_

"Yes, by all means, tell the lord." She sounded weary. "And tell him that her name shall be... Seraena."

Gaby opened her mouth again- in shock. She felt herself being shifted again and a sense of vertigo entered her. It felt worse than the first time she tried to fly on a broomstick. Only this time whatever was holding her felt much larger.

"Seraena." The woman whispered, planting a kiss on Gaby's brow. "My beautiful sweet daughter." She glowed with pride, grinning with enthusiasm down at Gaby. "You will be the most beautiful woman in the world. And you will be the greatest woman, my love." Her eyes shone fiercely with pride and determination. "I will make sure of it."

And Gabrielle's mind went on overload. And she screamed.

* * *

It was a nightmare. Somehow Gabrielle was a baby again.

And she could not reverse this… Whatever it was.

The first person she had seen in this new life, was the woman who must have been her host's mother. She vehemently refused to call this woman her mother. _Apolline_ was her mother!

Yet this woman, loved her. No doubt about that. And Gaby, weak, pathetic as she was at this moment, craved the love and comfort of her mother.

And Apolline was gone.

She had no way of contacting her parents, her sister or brother-in-law, or anyone she knew. Not for a long time at least.

She was fed, changed and bathed like a baby. They rocked her and sang her to sleep. It was months before she could taste solid food again. As a baby she rarely cried, much to her caretakers' relief.

Another individual in her life, was a black haired, amber-bronze skinned little girl, who had the loveliest eyes, like molten gold. She often saw the little girl bustling about like a House-Elf fanning her with a silk or feather fan above her cradle which was being rocked to gently rock her to sleep. She also tidied the nursery, wiping by hand, the window-sills, changing tables, the heavy chest in the corner. She brought toys for Gaby in the crib, and dusted the curtains or drew it so the light wouldn't disturb the baby. But she was no House-Elf. The lack of magic proved that much.

 _Why was a child doing servant's work?_ Gaby thought, alarmed.

And no magic? None whatsoever, not in the little girl. That was to be expected. Even in underage mages, their powers had not fully manifested and were not in their total control. But the other individual, a plump, ebony-skinned woman who changed Gaby and fed her (that was beyond disgusting. She would've taken a bottle for goodness' sake!), dressed, bathed and rocked her to sleep, was clearly her nurse- her wet nurse. _Ugh._

The woman with silvery hair who reminded her painfully, heart-breakingly of Apolline, her real mother, was nearly always in her nursery. Fussing, crooning, singing and beaming down at Gaby. To her surprise, Gaby found that the new mother had quite a nice singing voice. She always insisted on holding and rocking, playing with and dressing her (or at least supervising her dressing), and brought countless new toys or clothes for Gaby to wear. She didn't know why. Babies often outgrew their clothes. She should've saved her money.

But there were others too. The first was a man whose eyes were a shade of lilac which she found surprising, just as she was surprised at her mother's violet eyes. Real purple eyes.

He had looked down at her in awe and joyful delight when he had seen Gaby in the baby's body for the first time. But he could never replace or be Antoine, her _real_ father. _Never._

The others? Three youths.

Boys with silvery hair, one who insisted on keeping his hair short and even kicked up a fuss when they tried to curl it. Another who had the lushest silver curls she had ever seen and lilac eyes that were almost violet. And another who had real platinum hair who was too short to be able to see high enough.

 _Brothers,_ she refrained herself from sighing. She did try to amuse them by giving them smiles, and indulging in their little games. Gaby did feel bad for the family. She was not the daughter they had expected to have.

Her new parents constantly enthused or marvelled at how beautiful their daughter was. Gabrielle saw them beam and glow with pride, but her heart was unbearably broken. She was distraught, grief-stricken, devastated.

Lady Saera, was a sweet, gentle-hearted woman who adored her child. Lord Ayrmidon was a warm-hearted, proud, strong man who loved her deeply. Yet it was never the same.

The images of Fleur, her mother and father, her nephew and nieces filled her mind, and she couldn't believe, couldn't comprehend, that she was now far away, forced to be someone else's baby. She wanted nothing more than to go home. She wanted to hug her mother, listen to her fuss over her hair and the state of her clothing, get crushed in her father's embrace, listen to his booming laugh and his enthusiasm and zest for life, his warmth. The smell of the coffee hot chocolate, and pastries, and the daffodils and roses in her mother's kitchen, the warmth of the sun... Even the hospital potions smells she craved.

 _How in the world am I supposed to get back home? To France?!_

When and if she does get back- no more travelling for her. Not for a long time.

Fleur's cheerful excitement to see her once again, her enthusiastically greeting and fussing over her as only a second mother could, eagerly ushering her into the kitchen at Shell Cottage for a cup of tea and some biscuits, chatting away about the latest fashions... Her warm and loving kisses and embraces…

At these times Gaby could weep. And to her frustration and embarrassment, her infant self did weep.

But she could not afford to waste her time. She needed first, to find out where on earth she was. And why so many had silver hair and purple eyes.

To the untrained eye, Gaby knew that while these people appeared heartbreakingly beautiful, they weren't as devastatingly, inhumanly lovely as real Veela.

She just wondered if she was still as beautiful as she was before or if her appearance had changed. If her family's looks were of any indication, she would have silver-gold hair and purple eyes.

 _Where am I?_

* * *

When Gaby had started to walk, her 'mother' brought boxes of new clothes for her. And jewels. Was it supposed to be wise to give a baby jewels? Gabrielle knew by experience, from her own nephew and nieces, that babies tried to swallow such things, or at least stuff them in their mouths.

And then she had been bathed. She was dumped into a basin of warmed water, rubbed with oils and butters as fragrant as could be, gently scrubbed and massaged, and dried with a fleecy towel. Lady Saera stood by, meticulously supervising and inspecting everything.

Once she was rubbed dry, a comb was pulled through her hair and Gabrielle was unceremoniously dumped in front of a mirror.

She froze.

Barring the fact that she had baby cheeks, a baby's body and short hair, she looked exactly the same as she did in life.

Except for her eyes. Her eyes were pure violet, richer, more vivid and yet more clear and bright than amethysts. Her hair was more metallic-like, more silver than blonde, but other than that she looked exactly the same! The same Veela complexion, hair and eyes, the same delicate features!

She looked like her own baby photos. And her mother, Apolline, had plenty of those when her daughters were just babies, so she would know!

And so the facts slammed Gabrielle hard in the head and stabbed her deep within the heart. Her soul, her consciousness wasn't trapped within another individual's body by dark magic.

She had been _reborn._

Reincarnated into another life.

Gabrielle Delacour had died in Egypt, leaving behind her parents Antoine and Apolline Delacour, her sister Fleur, her brother-in-law, Bill Weasley, and her nephew and nieces, Victoire, Dominique and Louis. And her friends in the hospital, and a life, short and incomplete, abruptly ended as it was.

And so Seraena Veltaris, formerly Gabrielle Delacour, became the first and only person ever to scream in despair at her own reflection. A face which would become cause for awe, admiration, astonishment and more who felt like they were looking upon a goddess.

It didn't matter to her.

Gabrielle Delacour was dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** **: I don't own any of these characters or these worlds. Those belong to George R.R Martin and J.K Rowling.**

 **To lightwalnut64: Aww. Love you too! ;)**

 **To AvalonRivers: Gabrielle Delacour is one of the most undermined and brushed-aside characters in the Harry Potter universe. She's been overshadowed by every one else due to her age, especially by Fleur, her triwizard champion sister. There just aren't enough fics about her. But she reminds me a lot of Ginny when she was young!**

 **P.S: She's actually in _Essos._ But she will make her way to Westeros soon enough.**

* * *

 **A Whole New Existence**

There were several nasty surprises throughout her years, mixed in with the pleasant. Gabrielle, now called Seraena, needed to adjust in order not to arouse suspicion. It was bad enough she had suddenly become the centre of attention.

It took a while for Seraena, formerly known as Gabrielle, to remember that, in fact, she did have a new name.

It was even worse when faced with the fact that she had a new family.

It wasn't that she despised them. They were so easy to love. But it was that they weren't her mother, her father or sister- or at least the ones she remembered.

At home, her parents' attention would be solely on her and her sister. The two Delacour sisters received the happiest and most nurturing upbringing in the French countryside and Paris.

Here, wherever she was, Gabrielle, no, Seraena had loving parents but it occurred to her that they were meant to groom her for something else.

All the children were being groomed; that much was clear. It was also clear that even though their parents loved them and were proud of them- in a way that was almost too much to bear, because to Gabrielle/Seraena, it was for all the wrong reasons.

For starters, her parents, or more specifically, her new _mother,_ couldn't stop gushing and proudly showing off their very young daughter to whatever guest came to their home. Whether they were important businessmen, party-guests lounging around on couches, or well, anyone, _Seraena_ would be dragged out of the nursery, scrubbed, combed and perfumed within an inch of her life, and paraded out to the _oohs_ and _ahs_ of all onlookers, like she was some exotic animal in a zoo!

It humiliated and angered her. Of course it bewildered her that her Veela looks would have remained with her to this new life, but if these were her parents, they should not treat her in such a way! No child should be treated like an exotic pet in a menagerie by their family! And did they have to be so sickeningly proud of nothing other than her looks?

Her first- and _real_ \- mother Apolline and her father Antoine had never judged their children on looks alone. Never expected anything from them because of or treated them differently because they looked more Veela than human. Only others, apart from family (and the few real friends they had) did.

But her new mother was proud to the point she brought out loads of jewels and silks, bringing it to the nursery, holding Seraena/Gabrielle up to see which ones would suit her best.

In a way, she could understand, because even though Lady Saera was beautiful (and the rest of the family, and just about every individual she came into contact with!), neither she nor anyone Seraena/Gabrielle had seen throughout her new life, ever matched the level of beauty that she had. And considering that there were many breathtaking and stunning men, women, even children to choose from, that was something.

Her mother crowed that she had borne the most beautiful child in the whole world, who would grow to surpass the greatest beauties, including the courtesans of Lys and Braavos (wherever that was). And Seraena had to (grudgingly) admit this was the truth.

That was one thing she had to adjust to: her new family.

Another question: where in the world was she?

* * *

When 'Seraena' was old enough, she began taking lessons learning how to read and write. Needless to say, she excelled in her letters. One thing she did not understand, however, was how she understood and could speak a different language.

According to her nurse, High Valyrian was the language her family spoke. Lyseni- a dialect of Valyrian, which some called a 'Bastard Valyrian' tongue, was the language she spoke to the servants with. The Common Tongue, however, she instantly recognized as English. That startled her.

Then she had seen a map. And it slammed into her: the fact that she was not in France, Britain, Egypt, or anywhere she had ever learned about: not in Europe, Africa, Asia, Oceania or the Americas, but somewhere which lay on an uncharted part of the world, or literally, in _another_ world.

The city in which she lived lay on an island. It was known as Lys. The island itself was considered part of a continent known as Essos. Lys was an independent city-state. It was not part of a single country.

Even more bizarre, her parents had insisted upon her learning about Valyria first.

Valyria had been founded by what used to be shepherds. It was right in the middle of a peninsula on Essos which extended towards the Summer Sea. At the very heart of the peninsula, was the capital, Valyria, seat of the Valyrian Freehold. The first, and the greatest, the tutor added, civilisation in the known world.

The Valyrians had been shepherds, as mentioned, until a chance discovery led them to dragon eggs. Seraena/Gabrielle's eyes had widened at this. This had been the first mention of magic or any magical creature she had ever heard.

But she had been relieved when she learnt that the Ancient Valyrians had had magic. And that they had been her ancestors.

So if anyone asked questions… Well, she was still going to try to hide it.

Harnessing the power of the dragons, the Valyrians had created the greatest empire the world had ever known. They were dragon-riders and defeated the Ghiscari Empire. But to her fantastic dismay and disgust they adopted some traits of their enemies.

That is, slavery. Gabrielle/Seraena flinched violently when she heard about slavery. The tutor himself pointed to the collar around the slaves' necks. He wore one too, she noticed. He looked incredibly well-fed and groomed, especially in comparison to some House Elves she had seen, but the collar showed that he was a slave, though a scholarly one meant to teach her. Her nursemaid was a slave. And Karina, the little girl who rocked her crib, was one of them.

She wanted to shake and run from the room, screaming when she had heard that. But Seraena (she _had_ to remember to call herself that from now on), forced herself to swallow her disgust and remain calm. She needed to learn more.

For thousands of years Valyria reigned unchallenged and supreme. And then the Doom happened.

According to what she was taught Lys, the city of her birth, known as Lys the Lovely, or the Perfumed Sister; was one of the most powerful of the 'Free Cities'- the nine powerful, independent city-states of Essos. It was certainly the most beautiful; Gabrielle-no, _Seraena,_ she _had_ to remember that- had been born in a lush, fertile island paradise. It was filled with palm and fruit trees; the climate was sunny and warm; and the blue-green waters surrounding the island were filled with fish. The sunsets were so famously lovely throughout the known world, and it was once a popular resort and holiday destination for the Valyrian dragonriders.

Ah, there it was.

The dragonlords of Valyria, the ancient freehold of her ancestors.

Seraena had been told that she carried the blood of the Ancient Valyrian Dragonlords, the leaders of the ancient world's arguably greatest and most advanced civilisation, who rode on the backs on dragons and flew across the known world, conquering half of it.

Valyrians, according to the histories and legends, were once shepherds. Then a discovery made them the founders of a civilisation the likes of which the world had never seen: dragon eggs. Somehow, they learnt magic and they learnt to use and harness the powers of the dragons.

Seraena had gasped. The Valyrians were magic-users. Her skin tingled and her heart began to pound as she read this.

Magic. As mentioned, the servants and her nurse did not possess any magic, and it appeared, neither did 'Seraena's' parents. No one had a single ounce of magic and it terrified her, as she was used to seeing her mother cook with magic, her father using magic to summon his paper and stir his coffee. She used magic far more than muggles used electricity. She used it to brew healing potions and to heal. She used it do housework, to summon things.

The thought that she not only was unable to do magic publicly at least, in this new life, and that she would have to _conceal_ one of the most major parts of herself from those closest to her, whom she lived with… Was beyond terrifying and overwhelming.

For her entire time in Lys, she had never once seen a person do magic. Not the various servants, not her parents. _No one._ Therefore, her conclusion was that they could only have been muggles. She was terrified as she had never been without magic in her entire life, but for some reason, if they were all Valyrian descendants (which they were as they had silver-gold or platinum hair and purple eyes) they were all squibs! Or muggles.

Seraena knew she still possessed her magic from being Gabrielle Delacour- she could sense her magical core and at times, tested it when no one was around. But despite the citizens of Lys being descended from the members of the Freehold, they had absolutely no magic, not a single drop.

What happened?

From what she heard the Valyrians certainly built a civilisation to envy. They defeated and conquered their old rival, the Ghiscari Empire before proceeding to conquer and rule half the known world- not bad for former shepherds, Seraena thought. They built topless towers and had unique ways of shaping stone, as well as- though this was debated by scholars, powers. The Valyrian capital itself lay in the centre of the Valyrian Peninsula, and the Fourteen Flames- a series of volcanoes- ringed their homeland, where they first discovered the dragons: the heart of their civilisation. For thousands of years the Flame-Keepers kept the power of the volanoes from destroying the Freehold.

She learnt that her family, the ancient House of Veltaris (how it sounded like something those snotty, stuck-up pure-bloods would be proud of!) was once a house of dragonlords. They were not the most powerful or the wealthiest at that time, but they had married into several powerful families, which meant that they were related by blood or directly descended from many notable dragon-riders, including Jaenara Belaerys, the lady who explored the continent of Sothoryos, and Aurion, who had the power and the audacity to call himself emperor after the Doom.

But how did the Doom happen?

There was definitely magic involved. Even fighting dragonlords on their own could not have caused such a level of destruction. Others believed that a Rhoynish prince named Garin the Great cursed Valyria.

Spells, knowledge on just about everything and more were lost in the destruction of Valyria. Based on what she read, every hill for five hundred miles exploded filling the atmosphere with ash, smoke and fire, the heat so intense, they killed even the dragons. The Fourteen Flames erupted, sending molten rock a thousand feet into the air, and dragonglass- obsidian- raining from the red clouds that covered the air. Earthquakes destroyed palaces, towns, temples, and lakes grew boiling hot or turned to acid. East of the great city of Valyria, Velos, Ghozai and the Isle of Cedars (or at least part of it), were destroyed by a Tsunami.

So there was definitely magic, Seraena summarised. Though the fighting dragonlords may have caused countless assassinations, including those of the Flame-Keepers, and thus caused the Fourteen Flames to explode and Tsunamis at times were caused by volcanic eruptions, there must have been more. Perhaps the spells controlling the Fourteen Flames simply stopped working, or were neglected. Or too much pressure was held at bay by the magic which contained the magma beneath the mountains, until like bottles of champagne, they suddenly burst. Perhaps the magic itself was faulty, not the mages that kept them.

And yet another theory was that the Valyrians traded their souls for magic.

Seraena scowled as she had heard and read that. So there were magic-hating muggles in this universe. Apparently, like the instigators of the Great European Witch Hunt, and the Salem Witch Trials in America.

Westerosi priests of septons, or the Red Priests of R'hllor believed that the Valyrians delved too deep with 'their blasphemies and sorceries into the seven hells." The thought sent ice into her blood and she remembered that once, in her first world, muggles had hunted wizards and witches for their ability to do magic, calling it evil and unnatural.

Seraena wondered just how on earth she was supposed to survive.

The worst bit was growing up, not only all over again, but there, in Lys.

One of her main concerns was her magic and how to conceal it.

Fair point, as the daughter of an ancient noble family with so many slaves and luxuries at their disposal, Seraena never needed to do any chores. But she still preferred to make her clothing by magic, not allowing some poor slave to spend hours toiling at a piece of fabric just because her mother scorned it as being unsatisfactory. Her first mother Apolline had taught her how to do that. And she wanted nothing more than to give those poor things a break.

Seraena could easily explain her magic- if anyone ever managed to find out- as a result of her Valyrian blood. Prior to her leaving, Gabrielle/Seraena had read about a discovery which shocked the Wizarding World: muggle-borns _did_ inherit their magical abilities, unlike what most assumed, and the term 'blood' was not at all specific. Genes were the correct term. The magical genes- of which there were two- were discovered to be dominant. Which was why despite the fact that she, Fleur and their mother possessed the appearance of Veela, they inherited only the powers of witches. They could entrance but could not transform like full-blooded Veela.

Squibs on the other hand, had magical ancestry but they had unfortunately inherited the magical genes in its _dormant_ state. This did not prevent them from passing it down throughout the generations. Ministries and Councils of Magic did not keep a record of squib births which was why they had absolutely no idea of how a child from two non-magical parents could produce a magical offspring. Only MACUSA, the Magical Congress of the United States of America, did, due to the threat possessed by corrupt wizards known as Scourers and their non-magical descendants. Squibs were sent to muggle schools, encouraged to marry and integrate in muggle society and mostly forgotten. So how would anyone know if farther down the track, a descendant would have magical abilities?

But as Seraena reflected on this, she found it best to keep silent. It was unwise, she reflected, to reveal anything to anyone. This was a dangerous world, perhaps even more dangerous than the world she had lived in before.

She frantically rummaged through her family's library to find the answers to her many questions, as futile as they seemed.

Roughly a decade before the Doom, Daenys the Dreamer, the daughter of Aenar Targaryen, dreamt of the destruction of Valyria. She must have been a seer, Seraena theorised. House Targaryen was not a very powerful house of dragonlords (though they had steadily risen throughout the centuries), but then they moved from Valyria to the island of Dragonstone in Westeros. Several generations later, a boy named Aegon was born. He and his sisters Rhaenys and Visenya were both dragonlords and Visenya was reputed to _at least_ dabble in sorcery.

Aegon became Aegon the Conqueror after he conquered the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros and established himself as king and founder of the Targaryen dynasty which still ruled to this day.

To her shock, horror and disgust, she learnt that the Targaryens- like the other dragonlords of old- had married brother to sister, in an effort to keep the bloodlines pure.

She nearly threw up. The Valyrians were like the ancient pure-bloods, they had absolutely no idea that they were weakening their bloodline, and if that was the case, no wonder the magic _had_ failed and died out! To her further horror and disgust, she learnt that her own house, House Veltaris, had done the same, until fewer and fewer females were born in their line. They had married into other prominent Valyrian noble families and were thus considered one of the oldest and purest lines of Valyrian dragonlords. But it was no wonder if the Targaryens did not have a shred of magic in them anymore, as too much inbreeding had caused such a thing!

Hopeless, depressed, Seraena no longer wished to read. She quietly stole outside the library and made her way back to the nursery.

* * *

That was only the first problem. The second problem was her parents.

She had grown incredibly close to her brothers. They could and never will replace Fleur but she loved them all the same, just as much, to her astonishment.

Her parents, Lord Ayrmidon and Lady Saera Veltaris had produced four children of whom she had been the last (yet _again)._ Lord Ayrmidon's family House Veltaris, was, as mentioned, one of the purest and oldest lines of Valyrian nobility, with renowned ancestors from the Freehold. Lady Saera had had Dragonlord ancestry too, but less direct on her part, she still well-connected, however.

Seraena's father had been born in Volantis. Ever since the last of the Veltaris dragons had died, and the family had left the Freehold (prior to the Doom), House Veltaris had been known as the Wandering Dragons or the Exploring Dragons. They were one of the proudest families in the known world and _not_ without reason, Seraena discovered. They boasted the most brilliant scholars, scientists and philosophers; politicians and statesmen; healers; landowners; explorers and warriors. _Ayrmidon,_ her father's namesake and author of _Engines of War_ , was one of them. It was no wonder that their parents had high expectations of their offspring.

(Though to be brutally honest, the expectations for Seraena differed greatly from those for her brothers.)

After marrying a wealthy woman from a suitably pure Valyrian lineage of the Old Blood of Volantis, Seraena's maternal grandfather had settled there. Ayrmidon had not been the firstborn, but he had served amongst the Second Sons- a mercenary company- for a while, before moving back into the world of commerce and trade. A shipbuilder among things, he also had a hand in banking, due to the fact that his father's mother's family had married into a wealthy family who had inherited another family's holdings and key of the Iron Bank of Braavos. Based on wealth alone, and fuelled with the ambition to make his mark upon the world, Ayrmidon had left Volantis, buying land, leasing it out, and materials; hiring shipbuilders, tradesmen and sailors to find the largest shipping company in the known world (maybe even the first). The _Stars of Valyria_ was this result, and as such he became the wealthiest man in Lys, marrying Lady Saera, also from an unimaginably wealthy family, also did the part.

Lady Saera, though a lovely, sweet-faced and charming woman, was utterly determined, even ruthless. Seraena noted that both her parents had a happy, loving, even faithful marriage, but it was not like Antoine and Apolline Delacour's relationship. They had far too many expectations: from themselves, from each other and for their children, to be anything like the parents from her first life.

Seraena could sigh. Oh, the irony. Antoine and Apolline weren't the wealthiest, but they were content, even happy with their lot in life. Ayrmidon and Saera, or rather, Saera, however, despite their riches, wanted so much more.

Jacaenor was the eldest, a youth of nearly fourteen when she had been born. He was a handsome lad, but with silver hair streaked with tiny gold strands, and lilac eyes. He threatened to grow into a very handsome man, and she felt as if she were closest to him. She didn't love her other brothers any less, but Jacaenor and she had a bond, a closeness of spirit, which she had never experienced before. How could she otherwise? Fleur had helped raise her just as their parents did. Jacaenor did similar things, but he was mostly like an actual older brother than yet another parent.

But Jacaenor was nearly always training to fight, much to their mother's displeasure. Lady Saera would have preferred it if her eldest son was focusing on his studies and learning how to organize his estates rather than fantasizing on how to become a soldier. She made her displeasure very well known, particularly at mealtimes when Seraena grew old enough to join them at the table rather than eating in her nursery. But Jacaenor had been to Braavos and felt inspired. He had had a slave from Yi Ti (who looked and sounded Chinese to Seraena, and thus she felt Yi Ti might've been China's equivalent in this new world), who doubled as his bodyguard and training master. Jacaenor despised the loose flowing, brightly-patterned silks their mother tried to impose on him and never went anywhere without a sword sheathed at his hip, much to her irritation (which was why she rarely showed him off to guests, fearing he may embarrass them). He idolised the Braavosi swordsmen and the Yi Tish, and spent many hours practicing the Braavosi Water-Dance and YiTish martial arts. He also favoured dark clothing: black, midnight blue or charcoal-grey in the Braavosi style; well-fitted and tailored to show his form; and little to no excess cloth that would impede his movement.

Seraena could not help but admire and respect him for that. It was clear that Jacaenor intended not to wait and simply be content with his inheritance, but fight and make his own mark in the world. He wished to relocate to Braavos.

But if Jacaenor was like the Braavosi, Aeramor was most certainly Lyseni through and through.

Aeramor was the second of the three brothers, and unlike Jacaenor, seemed perfectly suited for a life of soft silks and lush, perfumed ringlets. He always smelt like lilacs. And as _pretty_ as he looked (people always admired his looks, though they completely forgot about him the instant they spotted Seraena), he had the sharpest and most brilliant mind for finances, which was why he not only took an interest in the family's business and the managing of their estates, but banking. He dreamed of building a bank that could rival the Rogare bank and the Iron Bank of Braavos. Needless to say, Jacaenor did not take it so well.

Seraena felt her lips twitch into a smile as she remembered that.

Lastly, there was Belaegor. Most of the time, the other members of the family did not know what to make of the third, and frankly, the most unappealing of the Veltaris siblings. He wasn't bad-looking but he was, to be truthful, the least handsome than the strikingly noble Jacaenor, and the sculptured Aeramor. His hair was platinum white with a pure gold streak, and that was striking but his skin was powdery-pale and his eyes much to dark to balance all the lightness out. It looked like all colour had been drained from his appearance. It didn't matter if he wore brightly-coloured clothes, he always looked washed out. He also rarely smiled, and was very eccentric to say the least. With an unhealthy obsession with the occult and arcane arts, he was also going in and out of several mystic cults, and had an almost-fanatical devotion to several pantheons.

The Veltaris family primarily worshipped the gods of Old Valyria. But Belaegor had sought comfort and strength in the gods of Old Ghis; the Black Goat of Qohor; the blind god Boash of Lorath; the Lion of the Night and Maiden-Made-of-Light of Yi Ti; the Weeping Lady of Lys, and more. He changed faiths the way some changed clothes.

For now, it seemed, he had been devoted to the worship of Rh'llor and his flames.

Seraena felt disturbed but also saddened by the fact that this brother of hers had had to find solace in gods because his family could spare little time and love for him. She swore she would never make that same mistake. So she latched onto the hearts of each of her brothers as tightly as she could and swore never to let go.

But despite his introverted and mystical personality, Belaegor was determined to make his mark upon the whole world.

In spite of their differences- and apparent dislike of each other, the Veltaris brothers had only that one thing in common. Otherwise, the three of them were as different as dragons, slugs and sparrows.

Her family brought her to her next problem:

Her future.

Ever since she took a single glance at her daughter's beautiful face, Lady Saera had been determined that her daughter would climb higher and shine brighter than any star in the sky. She would be the most beautiful woman in the world; the most cultured and refined; the most intelligent and polished; the most elegant and graceful. Seraena's incalculable wealth only heightened her prospects as Lady Saera was concerned.

* * *

Take for instance, this episode:

Seraena sat, legs placed neatly together, feet on the footstool. It was impossible for her to be comfortable. But she was expected to spend the majority of her schooling tied to that rod.

It was an iron rod with straps that buckled tight at her waist, and at her shoulders. Another strap went around her forehead to the rod. She had had to hold her horn books high as a young child and her paper books and scrolls once that stage had passed.

Lady Saera had intended it as an instrument to keep her daughter's back straight and to ensure good posture, even when unbuckled.

She was learning High Valyrian poetry and grammar at this point. The next lesson would be in Westeros, the nearby continent across the Narrow Sea.

For some reason Lady Saera had been insistent that her daughter learn as much about Westeros as she could.

Seraena finished her grammar lesson and moved onto Westeros.

"Land?" Her tutor asked. "Dorne." Seraena dutifully replied. Her back itched, but even if it was permissible for a lady to scratch, it would not be possible. She tried not to squirm in the device.

Her kindly tutor, Gazzan, who came from Meereen, gave her a sympathetic look, but he had been forbidden to undo the straps.

"And Dorne is ruled by?" He began expectantly.

"Prince Doran of House Martell," she answered.

"House Nymeros Martell," her tutor insisted. "If one is in an especially formal situation." He gave the map of Dorne a tap. "Banner?"

"A sun- Rhoynish-" she hastily put, after seeing the questioning look. "A red Rhoynish sun on an orange circle, pierced with a golden spear."

"Very good." Gazzan praised. "And their words?"

"' _Unbent, Unbowed, Unbroken.'"_ She would remember the Dornish. The only one who viewed women as equals to men amongst muggles.

They were currently speaking the Common Tongue of Westeros, which Lady Saera had insisted when doing their lessons.

"Indeed." He moved on. "Tell me more about the land of Dorne."

This was unusual for other tutors. Normally they expected their pupils to memorise things and list them, but Gazzan insisted she needed to think for herself.

"Dorne is the hottest kingdom in Westeros," Seraena began. "It is rocky and mountainous, even arid, with the only desert on the continent. The Sea of Dorne lies to the north, and the Stepstones to the east, whilst the Summer Sea lies to the south. The Red Mountains separates Dorne from the rest of Westeros, namely the Stormlands and the Reach."

"Are there any other ways into Dorne?" Gazzan inquired.

"Yes. The Boneway Pass and the Prince's Pass. The Prince's Pass is the preferred route for most travelers." Seraena stated. She continued recanting what she had previously read about the Kingdom of Dorne, in her own words.

Just then, the doors flew open and slaves bowed, opening it to reveal the presence of Lady Saera who stood regal and beaming down at her daughter and tutor.

The tutor stood and bowed. He undid Seraena's straps (which she was eternally relieved and grateful for), allowing her to rise and perform a perfect curtsy.

"Mother," she greeted. She would never be _Maman_ to her. She did love this woman, very much, but that special place in her heart will always belong to Apolline.

Saera Veltaris scrutinised her daughter from head to toe. Seraena was not wearing her fanciest dress, but she had never required it.

"Leave us," Lady Saera ordered the tutor.

There was a gleam in Saera's eye that Seraena wasn't sure she liked. "What is it, Mother?"

"Aerys Targaryen, king of the Seven Kingdoms has been captured." She announced

For a moment there was silence. _I fail to see how this should please her_ , Seraena thought warily.

"Apparently there was some uprising in a place called Duskendale," Lady Saera sighed. For all she insisted her daughter learn about Westeros and Westerosi customs and history, she herself had little idea of such things. "The Lord there- some upstart named Darklyn- had ceased to pay his taxes last year. They say his Myrish wife was behind all this. I wouldn't be surprised. Myrish women are more like whores than the ones in our pillow-houses." Her voice dripped with disdain.

Seraena had to bite her tongue and hold her breath to prevent herself from saying anything further.

"He travelled to Duskendale with only one knight of his Kingsguard with him who died not long after. They clapped him in irons and stripped him of his royal raiment and now he lies in the Darklyns' dungeons. Lord Darklyn threatened to kill him at the first sighting of an armed host." Lady Saera looked grim.

"I daresay, House Targaryen and the realm of Westeros are in dire peril."

Her mother- her second one, she kept reminding herself- crossed the room and gazed out at the windows. The sounds of seabirds and the waves were enchanting, peaceful, not at all like Westeros, Seraena could imagine. Yet her mother was scheming something. She knew that for certain.

"Ever since that fire in the castle of Summerhall which took the lives of all but five of the Targaryen family, House Targaryen is desperate for more heirs to secure their line. As of now, the king has a grown son, Rhaegar, who will be king one day, and one-year-old boy, Viserys. Although House Targaryen is known for wedding brother to sister-" Seraena struggled not to wince. "The king and queen have had no other living children. No nephews and less than a handful of cousins with the name Baratheon."

Baratheon… Orys Baratheon was the trusted general and right hand of Aegon the Conqueror, reputed to be his illegitimate half-brother. He married the Storm King's daughter and founded House Baratheon, taking her family's colours, sigil and words for his own.

"Thus, they are faced with a problem. What noble lady shall they choose to be the prince's bride?" Saera turned to face her daughter and beamed. "Without inciting the envy, indignation and outrage of other noble houses of Westeros, which lady shall they pick?"

Seraena stared. So this was what she was planning.

Part of her wanted to scream and run from the room. Another part wanted to shriek, tear at her hair and claw at somebody's eyes, screaming that she was not made to be traded or sold!

But a more reasonable part of her informed her that she really needed not to arouse suspicion or land herself in trouble, especially when surrounded by muggles. And that she really had no choice.

Not in this world. And that was what she hated the most.

This was a medieval or ancient society, she thought.

Saera crossed the room in an instant and sat down by her daughter's side. Taking both her hands in hers, her cheeks flushed prettily. She was really quite lovely, Seraena thought. Saera did not have the Veela allure or their way of dazzling men and stealing the breaths of anyone who beheld them, but she did come quite close.

Her second mother had a heart-shaped face, similar to Seraena's, with a delicate nose and chin. Her lips were sculpted though not as lush as her daughter's, and though her eyes were violet, Seraena's eyes were so richly coloured, bright and clear everyone who saw them gave an involuntary gasp of awe.

Seraena was silent for a long while. She could not escape. She had been a brilliant student at Beauxbatons, a highly skilled and trusted healer but she wasn't a sorceress at the level of Morgana or Merlin! She did not have the slightest clue as to how to return to France!

Besides, where in the universe was this new world? Where was she?

Seraena, formerly Gabrielle, had no such illusions. She had avoided thinking about this for years, but the cruel, merciless fact was that she was never going back.

She had her magic though, and if she was ever forced to marry, she could always flee and confund others as to her whereabouts, even modify their memories of her existence.

"My dearest child," she was startled from her thoughts when Saera grasped both her hands. "I knew from the moment I first held you in my arms, when I first saw you that you were meant to rise and shine brighter than any star in the sky. I would expect no less for you. I have always wanted the best for you. Why do you think put off countless suitors from all over the Free Cities for years? If you stay in Essos, in the Free Cities, or even travel and marry into one of the great houses of Slaver's Bay, you would be naught other than a rich man's ornament. We women are powerless in this world, _used._ But although a man is always the head of a great house, a woman may be the neck, and necks may easily turn heads." She beamed at this. "And not just a great house, my daughter. A great realm: _Seven_ Kingdoms."

Seraena froze. "So Prince Rhaegar," she said numbly.

"Yes," Saera did not notice her lack of enthusiasm. "Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, someday, Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms." She was practically bouncing with joy.

"They will not accept a foreign queen." Seraena said flatly. "Larra Rogare was the wife of King Viserys the Second, and mother to Aegon the Unworthy, Ser Aemon the Dragonknight and Queen Naerys. Before he even became king, she was constantly mistrusted and shunned by the Westerosi. The rumours were that she and her brothers were even framed, simply to be rid of them. Like me, she too came from Lys."

"Unlike you, Larra did not have the slightest clue about Westeros and its court." Her mother answered with something very much like triumph. "She could not tell one noble house from another, and though beautiful, did not have a tenth of your charm." Saera stroked her daughter's lovely face. Her violet eyes sparkled. Then she soured. "Besides, your three brothers would be remaining in Essos, and your father will make it clear that they shall not interfere in Westeros. You know the Veltaris way."

The Veltaris way: meaning that once all offspring received their inheritance, the Wandering Dragons will take flight once again. The grown offspring will seek to make their own names, fortunes and marks upon this world and not simply by taking what their father passes to them, unlike the Westerosi nobles. _That_ will merely be the starting point for them, not something to live off with for the rest of their lives. They would often explore the world, find their purposes, a new power-base, and as such, apart from her immediate family, Seraena had little to no contact with the other members of House Veltaris, despite their house being very large and prosperous.

"My child, this is our chance," her mother insisted. _"Your_ chance to make a mark upon this world. To be a queen and the mother of kings! As a woman, the gods know that you will have little chances enough in this world! We must take what we can."

Drawing her close, Saera kissed Seraena upon her forehead. She smelled her mother's lavender oil and the kiss of Jasmine tinged with myrtle upon her hair. Pulling back, Lady Saera gazed deep into her daughter's eyes.

"I do this because I love you, because I want more for you than to be a rich man's ornament and breeder," she insisted.

Seraena bowed her head. "I know," she replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**To dark.wizard92: Thank you.**

 **To Iris D. Peverell: Oh, Cersei. Honestly, does she ever look past her pride and into reality? But I don't think looks are enough to keep the interests of any man, her Veela allure is certainly something, however. As for the rest, well, we;ll just have to see.**

 **To VanyaNoldo22: Thank you! Hugs and more hugs to you!**

 **To AvalonRivers: Thank you. I actually do try, but I can't make any promises.**

 **To falciatore1669: That is a very good theory. On one hand I have no doubt that the dragonpit played a part. On another, having riders that don't simply use and think of them as weapons or beasts of burden is another. They certainly knew less than Hagrid or Charlie Weasley about raising and breeding dragons. And even Seraena knows more than them...**

 **To lightwalnut64: Thank you so much! Veela are portrayed usually in a negative or cheesy, corny or clich**é **ways. I'm trying to humanise them- and Gabrielle/Seraena who never really had a voice, and Fleur too. She's more than this snobby, Queen Bee that Ginny, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley perceived. As for your questions on House Veltaris, they will be answered in this chapter.**

 **To Guest Reviewer 1: Yes. That was my original. This, however, is new and definitely improved.**

 **To Guest Reviewer 2: We don't really know Rhaegar that well enough. We can only assume that he's a complex guy, much like the other characters in ASOIAF. As for that prophecy... Well, that's a bit tricky. Gabrielle knows that prophecies are dastardly tricky things. Remember, she left her world years after the end of the Second Wizarding War.**

 **To Twirl: Thank you so much! :)**

 **To Bella-swan11: True, but she hasn't realised that yet. At this point, an arranged marriage is the last thing she wants. She's still half Seraena while the other half is very much** **Gabrielle.**

 **To timijaf: Thanks so much!**

 **To effectivesage: Thank you, so much! And yes, she is able to do wandless magic, but she does have her wand with her, so that makes things easier.**

* * *

 **Disclaimer : I don't own ASOIAF, or the Harry Potter series. So don't sue.**

* * *

 **The Beauty of Lys**

* * *

 _It is time,_

The voice resounded in her ears and her eyes flew open. For a moment, she was either Gabrielle Delacour or Seraena Veltaris, she could not remember.

Casting her eyes around the room, Seraena could not see Karina, her loyal handmaiden. Doubtless she had gone to fetch her breakfast as she normally did, but who was the voice in the room?

There was no one and nothing amiss, the sunlight streamed into the room. No man lived near her for miles, Seraena's father made sure of that. His daughter's maidenhead was too precious to risk with any grown man near her, unless she was armed. Needless to say, he did not have the slightest clue of her power.

Seraena sat up and prepared to leave. Murmuring the spell that changed her sheets and made her bedding for her, she waved her wand, like her first mother Apolline had taught.

Her heart constricted and her throat tightened as she remembered her first family. They were gone, lost to her forever, worlds away.

Gabrielle's wand had appeared out of nowhere, in her nursery in the third year of her life.

Turning away, literally and figuratively, before tears could come into her eyes, Seraena did her morning toilette, going into the bathroom and undergoing her extensive beauty routines (as per her mother's insistence, otherwise she wouldn't have bothered), before dressing and leaving for the gardens as usual.

Her mother had complained about the smells about her person when she had begun brewing potions and practicing healing and herbology. How could she possibly explain that those were magical? So she had to cast a charm that ensured she smelled of wonderful things every time and protected her from developing foul smells. But the gardening, brewing and healing, all of which are magical, were non-negotiable.

Jacaenor, Aeramor and Belaegor each had their own personal fortunes which did not depend on their father's wealth, and their own personal interests. Now Jacaenor lived the majority of his time in Braavos. He had wed a Braavosi girl (of suitably pure Valyrian descent to satisfy their parents), whose family were keyholders in the Iron Bank. Needless to say they were thrilled and delighted at the bride price and the family line she was marrying into so there were no issues with that match.

But Merlin, Seraena _missed_ Jacaenor. She missed being carried around on his back or in his arms as a small child. She missed listening to all his stories, sharing jokes with meals, riding (against her mother's wishes), secretly learning to fence and practicing with a bow and arrow (done in complete secrecy), and even healing his wounds every time he was injured. She missed going to him as a child, in the dead of night, and snuggling up close to him, reading stories, the old myths and legends together, in the library or in bed when it rained, histories and the deeds of great heroes, dragonlords and kings. Seraena was as close to him as she had been to Fleur, though they were slightly closer in age than Fleur and Gabrielle had been.

Seraena thought about her brothers as she went to the secret gardens where all the slaves and household servants were forbidden to enter (for their own safety, though they tried to reason with her, as did her mother). This was where her magical plants were kept. She searched all over Essos for magical ingredients in the most important, or ordinary of healing potions, even going to Sothyros and Ulthos and the Summer Islands for other ingredients. Even as far as Yi Ti, using only portkeys, wand magic and wandless to transport and protect herself. As always Karina went with her. Occasionally Jacaenor did as well.

"Good morning my lady," a voice called out from the other end. Seraena whirled, realising belatedly that it was Karina. "I apologise, but your lady mother is expecting you. Your brother, Lord Jacaenor, will be there for tonight's banquet."

Seraena straightened, visibly startled. "The banquet? What banquet?"

"The banquet for tonight was arranged in haste, my lady," Karina said sheepishly. Outrage nearly blossomed within her as she realised that a peaceful day tending her garden, harvesting some plants and brewing some Blood-Replenishing Potion and Pepper-Up, would not go according to plan- and all on sudden notice! The woman was insufferable!

"Whoever it is this time, I'm probably not going to marry him, so why should I bother?" She snarked. The only reason she attended these banquets was because her mother wanted to show her off to the guests and attract more offers of marriage, raise the bride-price and make sure that if they had anyone from outside of Lys, her daughter's beauty, grace, elegance, wealth and good breeding would become known, as well as her _subtly-hinted_ pedigree.

It worked. Braavos, Pentos, Myr, Tyrosh, Volantis, Lorath, Norvos and Qohor- all the Free Cities, and faraway Slaver's Bay, the Lhzareen, perhaps even the Dothraki, those in Qarth and many more had begun to spread the word. Of a beauty, a goddess of beauty come from the heavens in maiden form. Seraena soured when she heard that.

"Wonderful," she said sarcastically to Karina. "Now I have no chance of escape."

Karina and Seraena had gone into many adventures together. More than once, Seraena attempted to free her handmaiden, but Karina refused. She did not have anything back in Leng anyway. She had been born the daughter of a rich and noble family who had sided with the Lengi Empress in yet another conflict with the YiTish emperor, and was thus forced to watch the majority of her family executed after torture, her wealth and lands stripped from her, before being sold into slavery.

Karina, due to Lengi heritage, was a great beauty. Due to Seraena's insistence, she had grown into an even greater beauty. Seraena absolutely refused to be the only one involved in the extensive beauty treatments. After much negotiation, where she had to restrain herself from confunding her own mother, Seraena had managed to supervise her own beauty treatments, instead of undergoing the ones her mother tried to force upon her, such as chicken skin gloves or that foul-smelling whitening cream of ground lentils, barley and powdered deer antlers all to keep her complexion pale. Because this was a world based on the narrow mind-sets of the Middle Ages where women put goat's urine to make their hair blonder and tweezed their eyebrows within a milimetre of their lives. Well, okay, so maybe Seraena had yet to see any eyebrows that might've been non-existent or smelt hair that looked like it had been rinsed in a toilet, but beauty routines were ridiculous and untrustworthy. She knew some women often painted their faces with lead. She also did not have to be a healer to know that they would not live for very long.

So needless to say, when Seraena reluctantly stormed off to do extensive beauty treatments, she had none of her mother's recipes. The first ones weren't so bad, gathering dew from rose petals at dawn and washing her face with it, but she had had to confund the slaves of the house (much to her guilt), to make everyone believe she had undergone her mother's prescribed beauty treatments when it had become too much. So among the potions she made were hair potions that not only tamed wild and unruly hair but worked miracles in making them luminous, a potion to eradicate skin blemishes (though she never needed them), fairy powder to give an extra glow, potions for growing eyelashes and brows, charms for hair removal, curling lashes, potions and charms to keep the body taut.

Those were some of the things Apolline Delacour had taught Gabrielle and Fleur when they were young. Their beauty needed no constant maintenance, but to increase it dramatically would be a gift. When people scorned and looked down on them for being part human, when they bullied, mocked or shunned them, their mother would always say, _'Use it like armour,'_ in other words, their Veela beauty and allure would awe the coldest hearts and outshine the snobbiest. Fleur especially used it. It gave her reason to be proud and scorn those who hurt her feelings (she hid her hurt quite well). Gabrielle was not as good. She was less outgoing than Fleur, more shy in her youth, more withdrawn and at times, introverted. But she still stuck to Apolline's advice about her beauty and charm being her weapon, and fashion and elegant style her armour.

 _In any case,_ Seraena thought to herself. _Whoever's going to be here tonight won't be able to be good enough for Mother's standards, or Father's._

Seraena had been suitably massaged with fragrant oil (Karina could not join her today, so she did most of the work), in a hot room with water pouring over hot stones in the brazier to create steam to cleanse pores and open them. She was then scrubbed thoroughly, sluiced with water, rubbed with almond and rose oil, before doing all the magic charms and potions to increase her looks. "So Jacaenor will be there tonight?" She asked hopefully.

"Yes," Karina agreed. Seraena brightened. So everything would be more bearable.

"As is Aeramor," Karina noted. "But not Belaegor."

That was no surprise. Belaegor hated these gatherings and their parents were only too relieved to have him stay away. As mentioned he was the least appealing of the Veltaris siblings.

Seraena's voice lowered. "Have you word from him?"

Karina cast her eyes around, but she needn't have. Seraena ensured that no eavesdroppers (or perverts), would be able to hear or see anything inside. She knelt by Seraena's side.

"They say he's with the Red Priestess," Karina whispered. "They say she comes from the Shadowlands. From Asshai."

Seraena froze. Of all the lands they had travelled together, they had never gone to Asshai. Some instinct, deep within, ingrained within her DNA, that made her body sensitive and react to, and her very being able to perform magic, deep within her heart and soul, screamed at her to stay away from Asshai. They said that magic exists there, but not the magic she was used to- the kind that gave wizards and witches a bad name amongst muggles. Evil and forbidden rituals that involved the use of blood and soul rituals, presumed sacrifices, dark, even accursed spirits and other doings. It sat on the far south-east of Essos and on the southernmost edge of the peninsula known as the Shadow Lands, thus it was called Asshai by the Shadow.

No food grew in Asshai. It sounded impossible, but the animals that are brought into the city die shortly after arrival, and the fish in the Ash River (which glisten black by day, and glow fluorescent green by night) are blind, deformed and poisonous. The buildings: temples, bazaars, palaces and halls, and even the walls are made of black stone that seem to drain light. That was what she had heard. From travelers and merchants trying to satiate her morbid curiosity. No children can be heard or seen in Asshai. The citizens were all veiled or masked and either walked alone or rode on palanquins of ebony or iron. It all sounded unreal, even impossible, but it was true. Only their mages- Shadowbinders dared to venture upstream into Stygai, their haunted, demonic Corpse City.

"Is she a Shadowbinder?" Seraena asked quietly.

Karina hesitated. "I cannot say," she answered truthfully. "But if you had to guess?"

The silence was answer enough.

* * *

Belaegor stared into the flames.

"Lead us from the darkness, O Lord R'hllor. Fill our hearts with fire so that we may walk your shining path… R'hllor you are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the heat in our loins. Yours is the sun that warms our days, yours is the stars that guard us in the dark of night." The red priestess chanted.

"Lord of Light, defend us. The Night is Dark and full of Terrors. Lord of Light, protect us." That was the response.

Every sunset, the third son of House Veltaris prayed with the red priestess for more than an hour.

"R'hllor who gave us breath, we thank you. R'hllor who gave us day, we thank you." She chanted, her brilliant hair luminous in the firelight.

"We thank you for the sun that warms us. We thank you for the stars that watch over us." And so it went.

Belaegor opened his eyes. Yesterday, it had been a Black Goat whom he had sacrificed to, calves and bullocks, chickens and more.

But he had been a fool then. He was a fool, and his eyes were open. The warmth, the heat of the fire, the light opened his eyes, and cleared the cold mist from them. Now he could see.

 _Now_ he was alive.

The priestess finished her prayers. The fire remained burning. She gazed at it with an enraptured gaze.

"The stag comes," she said in a deep, musical voice with an exotic accent. "He brings with him a summons. I see a ship- a ship of white, with the head of a swan, which will usher her into a castle of red stone. The dragon will claim her as his bride. He will mate with her, she will bear him children. The dragon must have three heads. And Azhor Azhai must be reborn again." Her ruby eyes gleamed.

The firelight cast shadows, dancing wildly with a wicked delight across her skin. The smile curving on her red lips was almost hypnotic. As was every movement.

But nothing was more entrancing than watching and hearing her pray or perform magic. Belaegor's indigo eyes never left hers.

"So she will be the mother of our savior?" Belaegor questioned.

"Of that, we are all certain." The priestess turned towards Belaegor.

She had skin the colour of cream, unblemished and just as smooth and soft. Her hair was the colour of deepest burnished copper, almost the same shade as the ruby she wore on her throat. As tall as a man, she was slender but full-breasted with a narrow waist and a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were red.

Melisandre of Asshai nodded her head gracefully towards Belaegor. "My lord, the eggs must be presented to her after the marriage."

"That way none will know that they are not from the family's treasury," Belaegor murmured. He strode over to the box.

It was of deep rosewood. It was inset with pieces of polished enamel in the front. The latch was a golden sword set with green jewels in the cross-guard and pommel, piercing a heart. Ancient Valyrian symbols and a rainbow of colourful, sparkling gems were set on the top and sides

It was a closed casket. "Sealed and able only to be open after the wedding?" He asked.

"Yes," Melisandre agreed. "And there will be a wedding, as the Lord of Light decrees."

"I never doubted him in the least." Belaegor did not take his eyes off the casket. Stroking it, lovingly even, the son of House Veltaris "And are you sure they are just sleeping?"

Melisandre's smile was dazzling. "For hundreds of years."

 _They slept and have never awoken,_ Belaegor thought. It sounded fantastical, incredible. Impossible, most likely. Yet he had learned never to question R'hllor's ways.

R'hllor worked in incomprehensible ways, of that much he was certain. But what man did not understand, R'hllor did. Of that, Belaegor had never been so sure in his whole life.

Belaegor grunted. "Are they anything like the puny ones of the pit of Westeros?"

"Nothing like them," she assured him. "Your sister and her children will raise and train them well."

Belaegor grunted in response. "You are sure there will be three?"

Melisandre inclined her head. "As clear as day; as clear as the fires the lord gave me."

Belaegor nodded. "Deal with Jacaenor's servants." He ordered. "That way these eggs will arrive in King's Landing and nothing will challenge us."

* * *

The most outstanding thing so far in Lys, Lord Baratheon decided, was when he set his gaze upon the Veltaris estate.

It was dazzlingly magnificent, to say the least. Even Summerhall in all its glory, the castles of the Eyrie and Highgarden could not match it for beauty, he thought as beside him, on their palanquin, Cassana gave a gasp of delight and awe.

Made of pale green-white stone, polished like creamy marble, it was set with pieces of translucent, polished glass that gleamed and sparkled in the light from walls and turrets. Ornate birds were embossed into the walls, their eyes inset with the same pearly glass, and the gardens were spectacular.

"I take it the lord and lady are wealthy," he said dryly.

"That would be putting it mildly," the magister escorting them muttered. "Wealthy enough to rival those Lannisters of yours."

Steffon laughed. "Surely you jape."

The look the man gave him made him wonder if not.

In any case, seeing the monumental structure of the residence of Ayrmidon and Saera Veltaris in front of him made him realise, quite obviously, it could never be a jape made by a fool or anyone speaking in awe. Steffon frowned. He knew the Rogares were wealthy in their time, but he had seldom heard the name Veltaris…

Until he came to Essos. Yes, there had been talk of a lady whose beauty was like no other, in Lys, the murmurs of drunken sailors, and pouts of their forgotten whores when they passed the docks, the wild tales repeated by awe-struck merchants and traders, sellswords, travelers, eager and thirsty for adventure, drunk and desperate to try and receive and invitation to the Veltaris' banquets and feasts, to catch a glimpse of the famed lady, whose beauty reportedly outshone the moon.

Steffon smirked. The tales they told. He had nearly laughed himself senseless when he heard that in Lys, there was a lady so beautiful that the birds would fall from the sky, entranced by her, the fish would sink when she gazed over water, and the flowers wilt in shame as the moon hid. He could barely breathe from his laughter. Oh, if only he could share this jape at home! The poets and bards would go wild trying to outdo themselves.

But in all seriousness, they mentioned that the lady was by far, lovelier than Shiera Seastar.

Now, wasn't that intriguing?

Lovelier than the greatest beauty of the Seven Kingdoms in her day- even that was not enough. She needed to have an impeccable lineage. As it so happened, they were in luck, Steffon remembered. He had made inquiries, even searched archives for the name Veltaris. He had been both elated and amazed at what he had found.

According to histories (not only in Lys, but Volantis, Tyrosh and Myr), House Veltaris was a prominent noble house in Valyria, capital of the Freehold. They were not what they were today, but they were dragonlords, so that was amazing itself. The Veltaris line had few daughters, a fact that surprised him, so a son rarely took his sister to wife, if ever. Instead, their wealth, power and influence (acquired steadily throughout the generations, until they were unquestioned, though never involving themselves directly in politics), ensured that they had suitable brides in other great and powerful houses. Most notably Jaenara Belaerys, the dragon-rider who explored the continent of Sothyros, and Shaenara Avantador, whose family were said to have been magic-users- and the only ones who could use transform into dragons- to truly be a dragon. _Wouldn't Aerys like that?_

But the family was embroiled in a bitter feud from within. Although they were wise enough to stay out of the violent conflicts between rival dragonlords and flamekeepers, the steady, though barely noticeable decline of the Valyrian Freehold and empire, there had been two branches of the same family who despised one another. Thus, both had fought for control of the family's wealth and power, the latter of which they had lost whilst preoccupied with fighting. They lost their dragons too, he remembered. Probably poisoned, rumours whispered, by each other. In the end, only their wealth and prestigious lineage remained- and even then most of the members of that house were lost thanks to the bloodshed. One prominent matriarch took all that was left, along with the survivors that remained and left the Valyrian peninsula. After the Doom, and during the Century of Blood, they kept their heads low, to the point where some survivors, including the first Targaryens of Westeros, believed their line long-extinct. The subsequent centuries saw them quietly rebuilding their wealth, spawning new branches of the family who were all wise enough to keep their distance from one another, and not interfere in each other's affairs. These various branches had taken root and become individual trees in many different parts of Essos.

 _Would that be enough for Aerys?_ Steffon wondered. It was miraculous, he realised. By the looks of the Veltaris estate in Lys alone, this branch of House Veltaris' wealth was enormous to say the least. The girl would be well-dowered, Steffon realised. That should keep Aerys happy. He only hoped that the girl was pleasing to look upon, wasn't disfigured and proved fertile.

He leaned over to Cassana. "What do you think?"

"About the lady or the estate?"

Steffon answered, "The lady and her family. Will she be good enough for the king?"

Cassana hesitated. "Her wealth, doubtless. Her lineage, most certainly. As to the lady and her immediate family, we have yet to meet them."

Steffon nodded, conceding to her wisdom on this matter.

* * *

Inside was even more beautiful and graceful than outside. It was breathtakingly lovely. The interior was creamy white marble veined in gold, or in very light blue or green shades. Carvings were sculpted into the walls, also inlaid with the same glass globes, held between the beaks of carved birds so striking that each feather seemed to rustle as they moved. Priceless ornaments of glass, polished stone, gleaming enamel and fine porcelain graced the halls and rooms. Unlike Storm's End and the Red Keep, this was filled with light. It was beyond luxurious and unscrupulously clean, so clean that the floors gleamed without a speck of dust. Fresh flowers bloomed in crystal, glass and porcelain vases, fruit and ewers of wine temptingly placed upon each table. Instead of tapestries, elaborate mosaics of semi-precious stone, depicting the ancestors of House Veltaris were set into the walls.

It was undoubtedly the most spectacularly luxurious place Steffon had ever been to. He hoped that the lady would not be too accustomed to all this. Should she prove worthy enough for King Aerys, she could not expect too much. He winced. Perhaps coming here might not be for the best. After all, Larra Rogare had never been fully accepted into the royal court.

And Larra had been a Lyseni. As was Serenei of Lys, Shiera Seastar's mother. And Mysaria, the dangerous paramour of Prince Daemon Targaryen. He did not know if yet another foreigner, this time a future queen, would be accepted and welcomed by smallfolk and nobles alike.

But if the king wanted her for his son, then that was it. The nobles will try to make her life difficult, and he hoped she was no pampered princess barely out of her mother's womb, as that would not endear the people to her nor generate support for Rhaegar's family.

Once that had been done, Steffon and Cassana had been treated to a bath, in separate bathhouses, of course. Massaged, oiled and smelling irritatingly like lemon and violets, Steffon garbed himself in his finest clothes for this journey and was thus ushered into the gardens.

The gardens were a paradise the likes of which he had never seen. Hearing Cassana's trills, exclamations and gasps of pleasure and delight (waterfalls, magnificent sculptures, fountains with rosewater and lavender-water, flowers and vines hanging from rafters and ornate flower beds were among the many attractions), Steffon's unease grew.

What if it was all too good to be true?

Yet he was desperate. They needed to meet this lady. He was nervous, nay, anxious to convince the lady and her family to send their daughter to King's Landing to become a future queen and the mother of a line of kings.

Yet, even now he could tell they would drive a hard bargain.

* * *

The Lord of Storm's End tried to mask his unease. Other guests were lounging on silk couches whilst slaves who looked much to regally dressed and too well-fed and groomed to be as such, went around offering trays of delicacies.

Steffon tried to look subtle. Where were they?

Suddenly, a tall, regal man richly, elegantly garbed in maroon silk, bordered and banded in gold patterns, appeared. A slim, yet strong-looking man with a sculptured face; imperious and stern: sharp cheekbones; high brow and a straight nose. Like the majority of Lyseni, his hair was silver-gold and his eyes a vivid lilac. But there was no mistaking the air of nobility upon his features that made him stand out from the laughing, hedonistic or ambitious pleasure-seekers, traders, merchants and bankers of Lys. He was flanked by at least two guardsmen and followed by a third. Steffon stiffened in anticipation. Could this be…

"Lord and Lady Baratheon," the majordomo who had ushered them so far, spoke. "May I present Lord Ayrmidon, of House Veltaris, who hosts us today."

"Greetings Lord and Lady Baratheon," His voice was, deep, rich and sonorous, yet commanding and utterly captivating. Any singer, bard or poet would be hailed as a master within the Seven kingdoms, the Free Cities and beyond, if they possessed such a voice. The voice had a regal authority which Aerys himself sadly lacked. Not even Tywin possessed such a voice.

"Welcome to Lys, and to my home," the lord continued. "I apologise most sincerely that I was not able to welcome you in person, but alas, I was away for yet another issue on board one of my ships." His clear gaze met Steffon's.

"I understand, Lord Ayrmidon, and on behalf of myself and my wife, and king Aerys on who sends me, I thank you, most graciously for your welcome," Steffon Baratheon replied cordially.

Ayrmidon Veltaris nodded his head. Steffon could see that while he was handsome, his looks alone did not stand out from the crowd of Lyseni and any other of Valyrian descent. No, it was merely his commanding and charismatic presence, and his voice that could be described as being like magic. He noticed that everyone had sat straighter, silencing, some with food or goblets suspended halfway to their mouths. All had their eyes trained upon him.

 _Is that the secret of his success_? Steffon thought dryly. _Or his fortune?_ He had no way of knowing. The man's mere presence, even the word of his arrival certainly stirred the crowd's attention, so much as that he would seem outstandingly handsome instead of moderately so. True, fairness was a common feature of the descendants of Old Valyria, but outstanding beauty was, frankly speaking, something that everyone, high and low alike, would be expecting in Prince Rhaegar's bride. There would be many scorned noble ladies in Westeros, the least of which was not Cersei Lannister, Lord Tywin's young daughter, whose own fortune, blood and beauty have shot her prospects to the stars. Tywin certainly thought her a fit match for the Dragon Prince. For a brief second, Steffon felt guilt in dashing his friend's hopes.

But only for a second. From Lord Ayrmidon's side, came a lady in flowing, sheer pink silks trimmed in silver, with silver armlets, bracelets and necklace set with amethysts.

She was outrageously lovely, Steffon conceded. With hair like pure, molten silver touched with gold whenever it caught the light; finely chiseled features; and a delicately pointed and upturned profile; a willowy, graceful figure; and skin that was unblemished and fair. She shone with an unearthly beauty about her, and the Lord of Storm's End hoped with all his heart that the daughter had her looks and her father's charisma. Lady Saera was beyond exquisite.

"My lady wife, Saera," Lord Veltaris stated. Lady Saera gave a brilliant, shining smile. Steffon knew that in spite of her enchanting looks, she resembled a cat that caught the mouse and received a bowl of cream only afterwards. The woman was happy to see them for whatever mysterious reason, and that made him worry.

 _Perhaps I have been in King's Landing for far too long,_ he thought.

He bowed to the lady and introduced himself and his wife. Those violet eyes were most certainly pleased, though for whatever reason…

Steffon felt himself stiffen. Surely she did not know?

They had taken the utmost care. In order not to attract the worst kind that would bring naught but trouble in a royal court already rife with intrigue, Lord and Lady Baratheon's official reason for travelling was negotiating trade agreements and alliances and new routes.

Steffon and Cassana had been sworn to utmost secrecy. But the court knew which was useless as loose tongues, heady wine, gossip and intrigue knew no bounds. However, he did not expect it to reach this side of the Narrow Sea!

"My second son, Aeramor," Lord Ayrmidon introduced a young man behind them.

Aeramor was a beautiful man, with classical looks and features of the Ancient Valyrians: straight, thin nose, perfectly proportioned chin and jaw; high cheekbones, elegant as could be; and slightly rounded eyes that were somewhere between lilac and violet; his eyebrows and lashes dark, thick and long, like his mother's. Long, slender and graceful neck and hands added to features of refinement and delicately arched eyebrows gave a Patrician appearance, along with his high forehead. Long silver-gold locks in loose curls fell slightly past his shoulder and brushed out, dissolving into a soft, voluminous cloud.

Steffon found himself staring as did his wife and just about every guest Unbeknownst to the Westerosi and many others, Aeramor Veltaris had his own plans that were steadily, but speedily coming into fruition.

He was a catch for a family as old and formerly as esteemed as the Rogares, whom he made plans for an alliance, soon enough. Normally, he would stay well-away from anyone and anything that had something to do with the Targaryens- even if it was a long-forgotten alliance- but now times were changing: his brother was picking up and building prestige, power, influence and wealth in Braavos. His sister was going to be a queen in Westeros someday- the wife of a man who ruled seven kingdoms and Aeramor had absolutely no intention of being left behind.

"My lord, my lady," the second son of House Veltaris smiled. "Truly, it is a great honour to have you in our home."

 _A charming smooth-talker, no doubt,_ Steffon thought. So this was the family? At least, if the brother was any indication, the lady would be fair to look upon.

If they tried to interfere in Westerosi politics it would not bode well for anyone.

Lord Ayrmidon at least, had the decency either to conceal his feelings or to be unaware of the situation. He gestured to a group of couches. Almost instantly, a slave in yellow silks appeared offering a tray of fruit and cheese.

"I am curious, Lord Baratheon," he began. "What brings you to Lys?"

"Numerous things including the possibility of opening new trade routes, trading alliances and even military as well," Steffon replied smoothly. "And something else."

The Veltaris lord raised his eyebrow.

"Indeed? Well, I may be able to assist you in the former two," he said smoothly. "The third, I cannot say, and the fourth…" He paused. "I am afraid I do not know."

He stared at him. No, there was no lie, no matter how small, and no deception in Lord Ayrmidon's eyes. Only curiosity and a growing suspicion.

His wife, however, was a different story.

Lady Saera concealed her feelings well enough, but she looked almost hungry, expectant. Steffon did not believe that she knew of his plans because she had spies in King's Landing, but because she had deduced it. Otherwise, she would appear even more expectant than she already was, and less hopeful. Unlike Tywin and many other nobles at the royal court, Lady Saera lived in Lys. She should not know the real purpose of his mission, and even less than Tywin, should she expect the Westerosi to extend the offer of a royal match for her daughter.

This meant that she _didn_ ' _t_ know. With this knowledge bringing him relief, he proceeded to explain.

"I bring greetings from His Grace King Aerys Targaryen of the Seven Kingdoms." Steffon began. "And I come on his behalf."

"Yes," the lord said quizzically. "You have already mentioned as much."

"But as to the fourth purpose of my reason to be in Lys, it is to seek a match."

Well, the secret was out now, there was no turning back. All three Veltaris nobles sat frozen gazing at him. Ayrmidon, had an unreadable expression. Saera looked expectant, even eager, and Aeramor smiled benignly with a twinkle in his eye.

For a long moment, there was silence with the three of them. Then Ayrmidon spoke.

"My lord, am I to understand," he began slowly, quietly. "That you seek a marriage alliance?"

Steffon took a deep breath. "Yes, that is the purpose of my visit here."

"With us?" A new voice cut into their conversation.

Steffon turned sharply. He was a handsome young man, but grim and silent, wearing something distinctly Braavosi: a fitted pair of dark trousers, grey boots, a fine quilted leather jerkin, overlaying gold brocade, fabric shortened and pulled taut out of the way, in order to prevent interference of movement. Even Braavosi women would display their feet and use tight belts to cinch in excess cloth.

"Ah, my firstborn: Jacaenor." Ayrmidon said pleasantly.

His garb was a contrast with the brightly-coloured, elaborate, loose, flowing silks worn by his family and the other guests. Steffon had seen Braavosi before, including the highborn. Were it not for Ayrmidon's introduction, and the clear resemblance to the rest of his family, he would have suspected Jacaenor to be one of them. Not to mention, brothers with Aeramor.

"Forgive me," the eldest son had a similar voice to his father's. "But I could not help but overhear as I approached." That was alarming. He had made sure his voice was down so none of the other guests could hear. Jacaenor stepped closer.

"You intend my sister to wed someone of your choosing," he said quietly. "A relative, my lord?"

"A cousin's heir," Steffon admitted. "King Aerys' son."

Silence.

"You are the king's cousin?" Aeramor gazed with keen interest towards the Lord of Storm's End.

"Aye," Steffon confessed. "Our parents were siblings. King Aerys has two sons: Prince Rhaegar, heir to the throne, and Prince Viserys who is only two."

And recent tragedies also played a part in ensuring that those two were the only heirs to the throne. The Tragedy at Summerhall and Queen Rhaella's numerous miscarriages and stillbirths among them. The Blackfyres were gone but the Defiance at Duskendale proved how dangerously fragile the Targaryen line was. King Aerys was only too painfully aware of that, unfortunately. He had shut himself in his quarters and tripled the guard, last Steffon had seen him.

Steffon noticed the Veltarises exchanging covert glances at one another.

"Then," Lord Ayrmidon began slowly. "Am I to assume that you have an interest in my daughter?"

Steffon nodded, almost sheepishly. "We have travelled throughout the Free Cities when we heard talk of a daughter of an ancient and noble bloodline stretching back to the days of the Freehold.

Aeramor laughed. "And of a beauty too, no doubt whom the poets waxed lyrical things about." He ate a grape.

Lord Baratheon could not tell if he was mocking them, or encouraging such things.

The eldest son appeared less pleased.

"Seraena?" Lord Ayrmidon interrupted his observances. It appeared the father was absorbing all this. As of yet, Steffon could not tell if he was pleased or not.

One person whose reaction he could be certain of was Lady Saera's. Her lovely eyes had lit up in a gleeful delight, excitement and awe. Her husband gave no reaction.

"So you have heard of her." That was not a question.

"Yes," Steffon confirmed. "We have heard of her, from all the Free Cities. They sing songs about your daughter's beauty-" inwardly, he grimaced. That was not the right way to go about it.

"Yes, I am aware of that," the father of the maid said slowly. "I am aware that nearly every traveller, if not all, who pass to Lys, comes near my lands just for a glimpse of my daughter, as unlikely as it is. She is very well guarded." Steffon didn't know if that was a threat he was insinuating.

But why should a father turn down this offer? A chance for his daughter to become a queen, and his grandchildren to become kings, was no small offer.

Steffon was about to say something when everyone gasped and all fell silent. Turning, he hear Cassana gasp as well and he felt his own breath stolen away from him.

A young lady was gliding towards them. A lady of such breathtaking, devastating beauty that Steffon seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. He wasn't the only one. He heard glass smashing, the sounds of goblets and trays dropping. All those present seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

She was simply put, the most beautiful creature any of them had ever seen. Tall and willowy, she radiated a silvery glow- everything about her seemed to shine. Her skin glowed luminously, her silver hair shone like moon-glow, and her exquisitely delicate features were offset by a pair of large, very deep violet eyes, brighter than amethysts, and strangely almond-shaped, fringed with thick, curling black lashes. And belatedly they realised that the poetic- and ridiculous- descriptions, which they had foolishly presumed to be exaggerations, did not do her lovely radiance justice.

Ayrmidon sighed and stood. "Lord and Lady Baratheon, may I present my daughter Seraena. Seraena, this is Lord Steffon Baratheon of Storm's End, cousin and envoy to King Aerys and his wife, the Lady Cassana."

So this was Seraena Veltaris. And the poets did not do her justice. Steffon didn't know what to make of that.

He didn't know how she came to be so beautiful, so luminously lovely. What made her skin shine silvery-white like that and her pure silver-gold hair ripple and fan out behind her without wind? Either way, he glanced at Cassana, she might be the only one to _exceed_ King Aerys' standards.

Seraena Veltaris' luminous violet eyes met his and he knew Aerys would wish to secure this prize one way or another.

He just hoped they could do it.


	4. Chapter 4

**To ptolemy 101: Thank you- here it is!**

 **To AvalonRivers: Thanks so much!**

 **To dark.wizard92: Well, can you imagine how the Westerosi will see her? ;)**

 **To ZeroJ25: Hope you like this!**

 **To lightwalnut64: And of course Cersei's reaction will be included later! She's so arrogant and vain, it'll feel good. Not giving away any spoilers, though! But no, they are not stupid enough to ask for Dorne- this would only cause trouble, the kind they wish to avoid, and not even Aerys is insane enough to do something like that (yet). But they will drive a hard bargain. And the history of House Veltaris will be explained somewhat here.**

 **To Paco The Taco Maker: Yes she is. Oh no, considering that Gabrielle had a crush on Harry as a young girl, the idea is just... Wrong! On so many levels, even though it was a schoolgirl crush, just... No! Not even a Targaryen would ever dream of doing that! And Poor Harry!**

 **To timijaf: Thank you.**

 **To Arianna Le Fay: Honestly, if Rhaegar had been married long enough or been with Lyanna long enough, he would be equally unhappy, they both would be. She's wild, she's unrestrained, she would have no qualms about doing whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, she cannot contain herself, even in court. And while that may generate attraction, put them in a room together long enough and they wouldn't be able to stand one another. They're just too different to see eye-to-eye, even if she did believe him. In canon, if Rhaegar had won the Battle of the Trident and the right to remain with Lyanna, they may not wait to get away from each other before long.**

 **To VanyaNoldo22: I won't stop- here it is! Thank you so much, and damn, everyone can't wait to see Cersei's reaction and knock down her pride can they? Hugs and more hugs!**

 **Por Alice: Merci beaucoup. Désolé, je ne l'ai pas écrit en français.**

 **To Mina: I don't really hate her either but I what will happen will happen. Besides she hasn't met Rhaegar yet.**

 **To Jane: No that will never happen. I won't give away spoilers, but even though the Martell siblings will make an appearance, they will not be married off.**

 **To Cherry: I won't give away any spoilers- sorry!**

 **To Sceonn: 1. Very important:**

 **this is not a conventional reincarnation fic. Gabrielle Delacour was forced to adjust (or pretend to adjust) to her new world, but she does not adjust to her new family as well, and cannot be forced to.**

 **I never get why reincarnation fics sometimes skip this. It must be hard as hell adjusting to a new world, and thinking of yourself as having a new family, not just being a baby all over again, if you are reborn with all your memories. Gabrielle Delacour was grew up in and lived in twentieth and twenty-first century France. She was also a witch, a part-Veela, surrounded by family who loved her and knew how to deal with the issues she had. She didn't have to hide who she was. She never felt in danger because of that, unless you count the aftermath of Fleur's wedding.**

 **Remember, she's literally a world and another lifetime away from the mother, father and sister who raised and** **loved her.** **The impression I received from the Delacours in Deathly Hallows, was that they were a** **tight-knit, happy, loving family. Unlike there, Monsieur and Madame Delacour never put their children's worth in regards to their gender (I don't think they cared if they had sons or not), their looks (Monsieur Delacour was 'not as attractive as his wife'), or how high they could rise. They didn't criticise Fleur's choice of husband, that he was poor and got attacked by a werewolf.**

 **Fleur was certainly close enough for Gabrielle to be the thing she missed the most. A family in the world of Ice and Fire would not be anything like that. Not even the Starks were as close to each other and as harmonious as the Weasleys and Delacours, especially with Sansa and Arya's rivalry and Catelyn's treatment of Jon, and her resentment of Ned keeping him in Winterfell. You can't say that if you were in a family where your mother considered appearance, wealth and standing to be the most important thing and insisted on her children being perfect, or lacking her favour, that you would not miss that. The closest thing she has to a family like the one in France is Jacaenor.**

 **At** **this point she is conflicted on whether she is actually Gabrielle nor Seraena. She has one foot in one world, and another in the new one.**

 **2. She doesn't have Swooping Evil venom or a Thunderbird like Newt Scamander did in New York! She can confund her mother, her father, Steffon and Cassana, but remember, they've been showing her off for years in numerous banquets and feasts. Everyone would have heard and spread the word about her. There's too many people to confund! Sooner of later, Aerys would hear of her too, on the other side of the Narrow Sea. You can't apparate somewhere you've never been and wipe their memories clean. In King's Landing she would be very visible to the masses and as mentioned, it's either very difficult or completely impossible without a Swooping Evil or a Thunderbird. Besides, if Steffon and Cassana come back empty-handed, the king would be furious.**

 **To Bella-swan11: Ah, who wouldn't? But only time can tell if they can work together and if it's true love. And her decision will be below. But really, Steffon might know Tywin, but he doesn't know Cersei all that well. **

* * *

**Disclaimer : I don't own these characters. So don't sue.**

* * *

 **Fears and Promises**

Seraena's thoughts were so far away, that she had scarcely noticed that she had wandered close to her parents.

And her brothers. Jacaenor was a startling contrast from the others in the party, who wore brightly-coloured and pale silks. He was in dramatic black. He also wore close-fitting, tailored clothing as compared to the loose, flowing robes of the guests and Aeramor.

Jacaenor nodded his head when he saw her, but unlike other times, he did not smile.

Golden-brown curls and a small head appeared out of nowhere, and she noticed a slave girl giving her a warning look. Her eyes flitted over to where her parents and second brother reclined, with two guests.

Seraena noticed a man, very tall and muscular, with bright blue eyes and a wavy, coal-black hair, sitting with them. By his clothing, he looked important, very important and Westerosi. She had seen a few of them.

They looked like they were from the European Middle Ages, Seraena thought. Next to the man was a lovely, dreamy beauty, with coppery-brown curls and hazel eyes. She wore a green medievalesque gown.

"Lord and Lady Baratheon," her father stood. "May I present my daughter, Seraena. Seraena, this is Lord Steffon Baratheon of Storm's End, cousin and envoy to King Aerys and his wife, the Lady Cassana."

Seraena halted. She performed a smooth curtsy, and by the way the Westerosis' eyes widened, they were impressed by her grace.

Seraena did not need to look at her mother to know how she felt. She didn't want to look at her.

She knew she had to stop comparing Saera to Apolline and Ayrmidon to Antoine. She certainly never compared the love and closeness she had with her brothers to the one she had with Fleur.

"Greetings, my lord and lady," she said in the Common Tongue. "Welcome to Lys."

Her eyes met Lord Baratheon's and he seemed to absorb something quietly.

Ah, so no doubt the man had seen her mother's eagerness. That was almost embarrassing. Well, it actually was. But he knew that Seraena could not be easily brought, nor was she unguarded.

"Thank you, my lady."

"Please," her father gestured to them to retake their seats.

"Lord and Lady Baratheon have travelled throughout the Free Cities."

Seraena looked at them curiously. "Pardon my curiosity, my lord and lady, but whatever for?"

"Trade agreements and alliances with the Free Cities, my lady, but I confess, we do have another purpose." Steffon answered. He blinked. Seraena could see he was unsure of how to begin.

"Our most important mission however, was not one we believed we could fulfil. Until we heard of you."

"The esteemed Lord Baratheon," Jacaenor cut in, ignoring his mother's sharp look. He turned to his sister "has just confirmed for us that the matter at hand is in regards to the Prince of Dragonstone, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms. It concerns you."

There was an emotion in his eyes that told her he was definitely less than pleased.

Seraena tried to absorb this. I knew this was happening, but I didn't think it would be this soon!

"I see," she said gravely. Steffon blinked, realising that the lady was no seeker of fame, fortune and status. In fact, she looked to be absorbing this shock with as much grace as she could muster.

Humorously, perhaps, he began to feel irritated. Truly, was the Lady Saera the only one to feel joyful at such news? Lord Ayrmidon's expression was unreadable, his firstborn Jacaenor was less than pleased, his second son was indifferent, and the lady was trying to remain cool and composed.

Most would jump at such an opportunity, Steffon thought sourly. Tywin certainly did. That bumbling Lord of Highgarden Mace Tyrell subtly hinted at his own two sisters, Mina and Janna. Lord Tully had two young daughters, and Lord Stark had one, but even they did not dare reach that high. Perhaps they were wise to keep out of politics.

Perhaps this family was simply wise.

"I take it that there were no available potential brides for Prince Rhaegar in the Seven Kingdoms?" Aeramor asked, smirking. Seraena shot him a strained look. Did he want to offend someone?

"Alas, favouring one potential candidate- and thus the lady's family, comes at the risk of spurning another and incurring dissent during such a time."

"But what of spurning all the noble ladies in the Seven Kingdoms?" Jacaenor raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me, but how does wedding a foreigner benefit a king?"

Steffon was silent. He had wondered this. But Aerys had grown ill-tempered, his blood-shot lilac eyes darting about everywhere, his hair dishevelled the last Steffon saw him. He had demanded no questions. His cousin had scarcely left his quarters in Maegor's Holdfast since the Defiance at Duskendale and had taken a long while to recover from his ordeal. When Steffon left King's Landing, he had heard King Aerys had shut himself in his chambers again and refused to allow anyone in, including his wife and son.

Aerys' pride had been dealt a mortal blow by the Darklyns. When it had been resurrected, it was the pride of a god: high-strung, unyielding, brittle, vengeful and perceiving vast amounts of grandeur, or at the very least, determined to enforce it and his legacy. More than his pride, the terrible reminder that the Targaryen dynasty, to restore everything the Targaryen dynasty had lost: its power, esteem, and the mystique and awe that surrounded them like steam from a boiling pot. Steffon knew his cousin had wished to restore it. Why else would he ride out alone save for one knight of the kingsguard, to confront a belligerent lord?

For the sake of peace in the realm- because Aerys would not accept anything less than this girl; he had to succeed.

"That may be the case," he said carefully. "But His Grace, King Aerys had very high standards, and I am sure you are aware, handing too much power to a single family may be highly dangerous."

"Well, perhaps in that regard, you need not worry," Lord Ayrmidon suddenly spoke. "Do you know who is the head of House Veltaris? Not simply this branch present here."

Steffon shook his head. "I fear I do not."

"That is because there is no head of in our family," Lord Ayrmidon confirmed. "We have never needed one and thus, we flourish." Steffon gave him a very strange look.

"Strange, perhaps, especially for Westerosi, but before our ancestors left the Freehold, our family was among the wealthiest and most powerful of dragonlords. Due to the limited number of daughters born into our house, we married the daughters of other Dragonlords. Jaenara Belaerys and Shaenara Avantador were merely two of them. But a bitter feud, not unlike your Dance of Dragons in Westeros, broke out as the Veltarises fought for control of the family's wealth and power. Our line was nearly wiped out. Our dragons died. Poison, some say, others believe it was the fighting. But ever since then, we have never recognised a single man or woman as the ultimate authority, nor interfered in one another's doings." Ayrmidon sighed. "I had a brother. He remained in Volantis until his death. I saw him rarely, ever since we both married, had children and made our marks in the world. It is not our way to remain in the way of our siblings, older or younger, for fear of more feuds. Kinslaying is perhaps more accursed to us than most, as it nearly ended our line, thus we stay out of each other's ways. Nor is it for any of us to be content to wait to be handed our inheritances from our parents upon a silver platter."

He leaned forwards. "We follow the ways of Old Valyria. And Valyrian law states that all our children, male or female will have equal share of the inheritance. My daughter already has the largest dowry on this side of the world. When it is my time to leave this world, all my children will have a share of my wealth, ships and estates. But I expect them-" he fixed his gaze on his sons. "All of them to make me proud and to leave their mark in the world, and not in obscurity. They must all follow the family's ways. Expect that much from us, Lord Baratheon. But do not expect us to come running to Westeros whenever your king commands, like we are his bannermen."

Stunned, Steffon barely registered that Jacaenor Veltaris had his gaze fixed on him.

"Are you prepared for that, Lord Baratheon?" Lord Ayrmidon asked quietly. "Is your king? Your prince?"

* * *

"I think you might have scared him off Father," Jacaenor remarked, absently as he poured himself a drink.

" _Scared him off?"_ His mother all but shrieked. The door slammed shut behind her. "Ayrmidon- husband- this was the chance we have been waiting for! We have prepared her for this her entire life!"

"On your insistence," Ayrmidon said calmly, as he accepted the glass of Tyroshi pear brandy from Jacaenor.

"And for good reason," she fumed. "Do you think anyone other than a future king would be good enough for her- for our family?"

"You know our way, Mother," Jacaenor said, almost irritably. "We cannot form a family alliance with anyone- even a king. Just as we cannot engage in familial strife and kinslaying."

"Yes, but…" His mother paused. "The days of the Freehold are different." She beseeched them. Her violet eyes were pleading, almost begging.

"No. I know our sons." Ayrmidon cast a dark look at his wife. "They are more different than night and day. As different as a dragon, a peacock and a snake. It is best that they keep out of each other's ways. Even in close vicinity to their younger sister whom they all love. It would cause her naught but trouble, in any case, like the Rogare brothers did to their sister Larra in King's Landing. She would have been arrested and charged with treason, like her brothers, if not for the intervention of the king and his brother. Do you want our daughter to rise very high only to come crashing down, in full view of the eyes of the world, for all histories to remember her as such?"

Lady Saera was silent. She cast her eyes down.

Ayrmidon looked at his son. "If the king wants an alliance with your sellsword company, and needs you to fight his wars, he is more than welcome to seek it- from you. Not from her, not me, nor your brothers. Treat anyone who comes to you as you would any client."

Jacaenor nodded his head. "Yes Father."

He turned his eyes towards his wife. "The same goes for you. You have placed us in a difficult position, Saera, our daughter and I. For centuries we have kept away from the Targaryens and each other, ever since the Century of Blood and now this!"

He slammed his goblet down upon his desk. "Yet King Aerys will expect nothing less because of what and who she is! They have heard of her! Her blood, beauty, wealth, virtues- all this, the only thing lacking is a solid alliance, but if he should force the matter-"

"Or not," everyone turned to face the other occupant in the room. Aeramor Veltaris smirked. They did not even notice him, as their irritated expressions showed.

"As we have pointed out," he began silkily and as soft as sin, "If King Aerys picks one noblewoman from among those Westerosi, he risks incurring the wrath of others. Especially as Larra Rogare was mistrusted not only because of her foreign background but because she had two meddling, interfering and very annoying brothers." A smirk.

"And they never left court. Not until they were charged with treason by the then-Hand of the King. Yet the Veltaris way may work in their favour as well." A sigh. Aeramor leaned back. "In any case if word does get out to Aerys about Seraena, he will insist on having her for his son. We're the purest line of Valyrian dragonlords, without that wretched incest." He made a face. "And in our day, we were higher in the Freehold than the Targaryens who were a fairly minor house. After all, would the Avantadors and the Belaeryses consented to the match between their houses and ours if we were anything less?" He looked at the three of them.

Ayrmidon was silent. "Then again," he began slowly. "I could show him details of Seraena's inheritance and her dowry."

Aeramor smirked, and Saera breathed out a sigh. "Father, King's Landing-" Jacaenor began urgently.

"Your sister must be well-guarded, Jacaenor, but I fear we have no choice but to send her to that dangerous place."

"Dangerous? Perhaps, but think of the opportunities," Saera all but begged him. "She will be a queen someday, the mother to kings-"

"And she may die." His lilac eyes fixed her with his stare. "Make no mistake, Saera, they will try to kill her. Or disgrace and dishonour her, even humiliate her. Larra Rogare was lucky. Whether by poison or by the blade, Seraena may meet her end due to those that wish to usurp her- or her husband the heir to the Seven Kingdoms."

Saera paled. "Look for honour and morality in a whorehouse, Saera," Ayrmidon said casually, flipping a sheet of parchment casually. "Or in a band of pirates, thieves and whatever else. Not in a place where power is given and many would do anything to keep it. Even murder. Even treason."

* * *

Seraena went silently back to her rooms.

A Disillusionment Charm. Not that it would last.

Sighing with relief she retreated back into the safety of her quarters. No one without magic could get in. She only ever apparated there. Her guards were there to keep everyone out and ensure that she stayed out of trouble, as chaste as could be. They themselves were eunuchs.

There's no way out of it, she thought grimly. Not unless she wished to confund countless masses- and that would be impossible. Everyone had heard about her beauty, her wealth, her lineage…

She could confound her mother if she needed to. But not only will people start asking questions as to why she was still unmarried, she would need to confound a great deal of other people, some of whom she might not even know! Steffon and Cassana Baratheon she could easily modify their memories of anything to do with her, but if they departed, they risked incurring the wrath of a king, who, rumour has it, was growing unstable. She did not know if Aerys would ever harm his own cousin, but one of the things she had learnt about these Targaryens was that they were prone to madness. And she didn't have to be a healer to know that inbreeding, most especially brother-sister marriage was the cause of it. Aerys might not reach the level of Maegor the Cruel but he could still be volatile and highly dangerous, even to his own family. Seraena could not, in any sense of morality, allow that to happen to the lord and lady who only ever did their duty. A chill swept through her blood and spine. Suppose Prince Rhaegar was also mad…

Well, there were other solutions to that, Seraena thought dryly, taking comfort in her magic. But she needed to be careful in Westeros. The First Men killed off the Children of the Forest, a race of beings who, as their name implied, once lived in Westeros' forests. Well actually, they only killed half of them. The other half were slaughtered by the Andal invaders. The Westerosi priests, called Septons, had a severe mistrust of magic, to put it mildly. They considered it heresy and blasphemy and anyone thought to be practicing magic could be put to death by burning. Though that law was not as heavily enforced as it was in Medieval and Renaissance Europe.

Seraena needed to watch herself. But she knew, as highly skilled at magic as she was, she could not, as mentioned, confund and modify everyone's memories, especially if they had never met her. She could not apparate to King's Landing to do anything there, as she had never been there. And she felt sorry for poor Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana who would surely be at the mercy of a mad king.

Sighing, Seraena allowed herself, in the privacy of her chambers, to bow her head and dropped it into her hands.

Her family.

She needed to stop comparing them to Antoine, Apolline and Fleur, Bill and their children. This was not only a different world, but it was essentially like the Middle Ages, with a different mind-set, and different morals. Trying to impose one's own version of morality from twentieth or twenty-first century France. _That_ was a modern, progressive nation who had been among the first of wizarding countries to accept magical television (the Weasleys needed to go to France just to see some of that. Fleur's father-in-law had been practically bouncing in excitement). This was a world where slavery was imposed, and they could be treated, raped, starved, beaten, tortured, kept in horrendous conditions or killed in whatever way they pleased. Not even House Elves were treated the way many treated slaves. Hermione Granger Weasley would be beyond infuriated.

This was a brutal world where many were still superstitious and ignorant of basic health requirements (such as forbidding children to drink alcohol and the importance of drinking water). This was a world where men ruled and women were sold and brought according to their whims, dependent on the men of their family for a living. This was a world where daughters counted for less than their sons. Where their only worth was through how high they could climb through marriage.

Not to her parents though.

Seraena sighed feeling not a small measure of guilt. Her parents did love her. In their own way.

They weren't Antoine and Apolline Delacour or Fleur. They weren't brought up as they did, they didn't live where they did, but they did care. Why else would her father show apprehension, to say the least, about marrying her off into a place where greedy, avaricious, power-hungry and ambitious nobles, who were said to be worse than the sly sycophants who tried to flatter her father in order to gain something for themselves.

Her father did not, or perhaps, could not, immerse himself thoroughly into her upbringing, her mother was too controlling and ambitious for her, but they did care.

They did care. But Seraena, or Gabrielle, whichever she was called, was at war with herself. At times, she knew and felt in place in the world where she lived. Other times, she was homesick, pained, heartbroken and longed for her family, for love, for freedom- to be whosoever she wanted, to be with who she wanted, to be allowed to go wherever she wanted, to work, to be a witch. Now she could hardly ever be left alone. She was heavily guarded by eunuchs, day and night, watched over by her mother or the chaperone whom she tended to confund on a daily basis.

And she was sick of it.

But who was she? Gabrielle Delacour or Seraena Veltaris?

At this moment, she didn't know. She didn't know who she was. And that scared her.

She did not know who she was.

A knock resounded upon her door. "Enter." She managed.

It was Jacaenor. Few people could have gotten past the guards.

"Seraena," he said quietly. Seraena shook her head. "I have nothing to say."

She felt Jacaenor beside her.

"You don't have to marry him," he urged quietly. Seraena looked up, meeting his lilac eyes.

"On the contrary, dear brother," she said quietly. "For everyone's sake, I do."

"You have your magic. You've travelled all over the known world because of it," he reminded. "You've managed to make your chaperones and guard believe that you are still present when in reality, you were miles away, with me, with Karina, Mira or Gazzan." He gave a small smile, as they remembered their adventures.

Jacaenor was the only one of her family, and Karina her personal handmaiden, Gazzan her tutor and Mira her Myrish cook were the only others who knew. They swore themselves to secrecy and were utterly loyal to her. She did attempt to set them free. But they had decided to stay.

"I can't." She said quietly. "It's not possible to confund so many people, including the ones I do not know. And too many people have heard of me. Even on this side of the Narrow Sea, sailors, story-tellers, poets and singers bring tales from far and wide. And many have seen me."

Jacaenor grimaced, remembering all the times their mother had to show off, and make a point in showing off how well they guarded her, how rich they were.

"But," she began. Seraena stood. "I can go along with it. At least for a while." She hesitated. "I do not know Prince Rhaegar Targaryen but I will try. If he proves as mad as some predecessors, vile and cruel…"

She fell silent. "I will leave him. I can fake an accident. Or disappear." She remembered when a noble lady, a girl who had befriended their family, disappeared whilst riding on the shores. Her horse had returned without her. Another reason why her mother hated it when she went out riding.

"But not if you have children," Jacaenor said quietly.

"Still," he rose. "You can use your magic to see me in Braavos. To go home."

"If this is still my home." That was the Veltaris way. 'Once the hatchlings are grown,' her father would often say, 'they leave the nest. They cannot look back. For wild dragons rarely tolerate the presence of another grown dragon so close by. And we are the Wandering Dragons.'

The Targaryens called themselves dragons too. Once Seraena left Lys, it would no longer be her home. She felt choked. It might not have been France and the Delacour home or Shell Cottage or the Burrow where she stayed on a few occasions with the Weasley family, but still…

This was her only safe refuge, she realised, and _they_ were her only family, in such a cruel world.

Well, she still had Karina, Gazzan and Mira.

And Jacaenor. She loved Belaegor and Aeramor too, but she had no doubt they would not look back nearly as much. All three of her brothers were eager to make their mark in the world to move forwards and leave everything else behind but Jacaenor would stay behind perpetually- for her.

She did not have it in her to force him to stay. She did not have his freedom, or any of the boys', to go as they wished and be as they pleased. But if she had she would take it. Freedom was a priceless gift as was love and not just the romantic kind. Jacaenor would soon wed (his earlier ceremony was done in haste and merely registered by law, and not by anyone's faiths, so the real wedding had yet to commence). Negtiations were commencing for Aeramor's wedding and only God knew what it was, but Belaegor surely would not be left behind. She could not hold them back, any of them. And she knew that while only Jacaenor was certain to remain forever for Seraena's sake, there would at least be hesitation on Aeramor's and Belaegor's parts.

"I will marry Rhaegar Targaryen," she said quietly. Then reality slammed into her. She was going to get married to someone.

She sunk slowly to the ground. She would marry a stranger. Something she would have never imagined in another world.

Seraena felt Jacaenor's arms around her holding her fast and tight, as she struggled to contain her pain, her loss.

Both Seraena and Gabrielle it seemed were in mourning that night.

* * *

Needless to say, Lord and Lady Baratheon were met with soon after and agreements were made. The dowry, inheritance and other things were substantial. But Ayrmidon made it clear that they would be for his own daughter's personal use, after he died.

Nevertheless, they received an inkling that the royal family would find a way to use the inheritance and dowry for themselves.

The vast dowry and inheritance, as well as her glamorous heritage and beauty certainly made up for the lack of an alliance, Steffon thought. Especially as the inheritance included a portion of her father's fleet, some of the finest ships in the known world. Warships, luxury-filled travel ships, merchant ships. And a great deal of treasure. Not to mention her trousseau, as Seraena mentally referred to the wardrobe that was being made for her, from her wedding gown to numerous other things such as the shoes she would wear when walking the palace, the gardens or visiting some nobles.

The days were hectic. And Lord Baratheon and his wife departed Lys. They had succeeded. But Seraena knew, watching their ship set sail, that if they received the king's permission, which they likely will, there would be extraordinary times ahead.

One could not yet tell whether they would be in a good way or a bad one.

* * *

Steffon Baratheon beamed as he breathed in the sea air- and instantly regretted it.

 _I've been away for so long, I've forgotten what the stink is like,_ he scowled as he choked and tried to keep himself from retching. He had convinced himself that it was not as bad as he remembered. How wildly foolish.

At the same time, he had been in Lys. Lys was known as the Perfumed Sister and it did smell lovely by anyone's standards. Lady Seraena was surely in for a shock when she arrived.

The ship rolled into the docks, and Cassana arranged to stay behind to oversee the removal of their items onto their quarters in the Red Keep. Steffon went ahead to the Keep, to Maegor's Holdfast flanked by Baratheon men, until he came across Tywin in the courtyard.

Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, Lord of Casterly Rock and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands paused in his tracks, looking up from a scroll he had been seriously pouring over. Several Lannister men-at-arms flanked him, keeping a respectful distance but close enough to defend him, if necessary.

"Tywin," Steffon said warmly.

Tywin didn't smile. He hadn't, not since his lady wife Joanna had died in childbed, giving birth to their son Tyrion, who was a dwarf. But his expression relaxed somewhat and grew a trifle more pleasant.

"Steffon," he greeted. He rolled away the scroll. A squire took it from him. "So, you have returned."

Always one to state the obvious, Steffon thought with a smile. "I have."

"Well, perhaps it would have been wiser to continue onto Storm's End," Tywin remarked. "King Aerys has grown… Restless of late. Should you present yourself empty-handed before the king-

"Ah, but I have not failed, Tywin." Steffon beamed. Tywin halted.

"You have not." he remained regal and cool as ever, but Steffon could see the hint of surprise in his voice.

"I have found a bride for the prince." He confessed. A small margin of pity crept into him, and guilt. No doubt his old friend would not be too pleased as this dashed all the Lannister family's hopes of a daughter of their line becoming queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

"And who, may I ask, is this fortunate young lady?" He asked quietly, an unreadable expression in his pale green eyes, flecked with gold.

Steffon hesitated. "You know as well as I do, Tywin, that it would not be wise to discuss this until we have seen King Aerys in person." He cast his eyes about. Eavesdroppers, spies, no doubt. All of them power-hungry and avaricious.

Tywin looked grim. "Very well. He's in the throne room." Well, that was news. Steffon took it as a good sign that his cousin was out of his quarters and back in full view of the court.

Oh, how he was wrong.

As soon as the huge doors swung open, King Aerys was revealed, seated upon the barbed monstrosity that was the Iron Throne.

He had grown gaunt, his skin feverishly pale. New lines had aged his face, and most of the flesh had been eaten away, putting emphasis on the sharpness of his bones in his cheeks, jaw and chin, as if made from blades. His lilac eyes were feverish, and did not seem to focus when they stayed still, but they occasionally darted around and round. They shone with a wild, unnatural light. His hair had grown wild, and it did not look like it had been properly brushed under his heavy crown of red-gold. The Aerys Steffon remembered had been clean shaven. The Aerys that Steffon had returned to was growing a thick layer of stubble, like silvery dust. His nails were cracked, yellow and long.

They grasped the arms of the throne.

Aerys blinked as he approached, even when the herald called out his name. He seemed to have trouble focusing at first, but then his eyes sharpened and he called out, "Steffon?" In a sharp, harsh voice, that cracked.

Steffon paused, trying not to cringe. He bowed. "Your grace."

"So you have returned." It was not a question."

"I have your grace," Steffon agreed. Aerys' eyes narrowed. He gripped the arms tighter. His hands strayed dangerously close to the blackened blades, almost burying themselves within the swords.

"Without a bride." He said flatly. A dangerous silence filled the room.

Was it true? Steffon thought to himself. Was his cousin going mad, like his predecessors?

"I have found the perfect bride for Prince Rhaegar." He announced. At this Aerys nearly jolted upright.

"You have?" He demanded. "Well, where is she?" His eyes darted wildly once more, as if determined to root out the young lady, should she be hiding in this throne room and drag her out himself.

"She will remain on the other side of the Narrow Sea, until all preparations for her journey are finished, and unless you fit to send word of your approval for this match." At this, Aerys snorted.

"They did not think I gave you my approval to find a bride for my son?" He scoffed. "Fools. Who is this lady?"

Steffon took a deep breath. "Your grace, I would prefer to discuss everything in detail with you in private," he insisted. Aerys narrowed his eyes, as if displeased, impatient as he was.

"Very well," he finally conceded. He stood from the throne. Steffon noticed thin drops of blood dripping from his hands, at the ends of his cuffs onto the floor and the Iron Throne.

* * *

"You are certain of this?" he demanded.

"Very certain," Steffon insisted. "Before I even arrived in Lys, I sought out scholars and copies of the family's history. They are descended from powerful dragonlords of the Freehold, among them Jaenara Belaerys and Shaenara Avantador."

"Avantador," Aerys murmured, as if from a great dream. His eyes were unfocused yet again.

"They say they could transform into dragons," he muttered. "Be the very creatures we were." Steffon did not know if he was speaking to him now.

"Yes, that is what they say," The lord of Storm's End agreed. "And apart from her lineage… Well, her dowry is vast, and her inheritance… As I mentioned, the family follows the ways of Old Valyria. Which means the offspring have an equal share of the inheritance. Lady Seraena brings not only a large shipment of treasure and goods- for her own use and her husband's, but she stands to inherit a portion of her father's fleet: warships, travel ships, merchant ships to carry goods. No slaves of course, as that is against the law." Aerys nodded, absorbing all this without seeing what was in front of him. No doubt imagining it in his own eyes.

"However," Steffon continued uneasily. "House Veltaris is… Uncommon in some regard. Due to their family history of the bitter feud and kinslaying between kin which cost them their dragons-" not unlike the Targaryens. "Ever since they left the Freehold, they swore never again to fight or even come to the aid of their kin, unlike we in the Seven Kingdoms. To avoid one another to avoid familial strife which may lead to kingslaying. Not since the days of Valyria have they recognised a head of the family, and there are various branches of that clan, all of whom either have never met nor contacted one another, possibly because they are unaware of their existences, or at least, infrequently. We cannot expect them to come to our aid, but on the other hand, unlike the Rogares, we cannot say that they will interfere in our politics."

Aerys nodded jerkily. "Is she fertile," he asked harshly, all of a sudden.

"She is a maid, well-guarded by eunuchs and her own family," Steffon began. "As for her fertility, her mother bore four children, of whom she is the youngest. She has three older brothers, though I have only met two. She is also the first daughter to be born into House Veltaris for generations. They have had plenty of sons."

"Ha!" The king exclaimed, nearly startling him, had he not been so alert and wary. "As if sons were all I need. Many a night I have spent praying, fasting, lying so that my wife-" he spat the word out. "May bear me a daughter to wed to Rhaegar, to ensure my legacy. But she has brought me naught but dead babes! A daughter would not have me stay up at nights, with worry."

Steffon hesitated. "Your grace, you have two healthy sons," he began.

Aerys' head flew in his direction. "Yes, and one of whom is barely a babe, not out of his gowns, and the other, a grown man, beloved of smallfolk and nobles alike, so beloved, he seeks to wife a daughter of my Hand, so that the together, the two of them will rule the Seven Kingdoms and seat him upon the Iron Throne, whilst Tywin remains." He raged.

Steffon was taken aback. No, it could not be as bad as this, could it?

But as he gazed at the barely controlled fury, the unfocused gaze and gaunt, hardened and newly-lined features of his cousin (Aerys looked as if he had aged decades in the months Steffon had been away), he knew it was true.

His cousin and close friend was sinking into madness.

"But the girl must come," Aerys murmured. As swift as a blink, his expression had calmed, he appeared relaxed. Steffon was stunned.

"Yes, she will wed him. She will bear dragons for our line. And I will be the greatest king of this time, and my son, and his sons, and their sons after him. She must come. I will have no other, not for my son, my heir." He whispered, almost reverently, evidently forgetting that not two minutes ago, he had been accusing the same son of treason and treachery.

"You have done well, cousin." Aerys looked at him, as if seeing his arrival for the first time. He smiled. That was the tiniest hint of the Aerys he had known. Steffon bowed. "Thank you, your grace."

"Now, send the message across the Narrow Sea. I want that girl in my son's bed under the sheets and no other."

* * *

The next few weeks flew wildly, with Seraena barely managing to confund everyone in order to make her own gowns. Lady Saera had insisted on hearing the latest fashions and styles in Westeros, and Seraena could barely point out that those will have gone out of fashion by the time she arrived in King's Landing and the wedding commenced. Fashions changed faster than the winds, she reasoned. She preferred to start her own trends. Lady Saera conceded- for a while.

But then something always happened. Food, for the journey, jewels, and why wasn't Seraena spending enough time being beautified? Did she know as much as she could about the Westerosi and their customs? Their kingdoms?

It nearly drove her wild, especially as Seraena, although willing to go along with everyone's plans, wasn't sure if she wanted to remain Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's consort for long.

Then came the surprise. Her mother insisted on speaking to her.

"Child," she began. Saera hesitated. "You must conceive a child, Seraena, a boy. As soon as possible. If you prove your fertility, and bear an heir for House Targaryen and the Seven Kingdoms, your position will be secure. And you will be safe." She hesitated.

"Maegor the Cruel dealt harshly to his wives when they failed to give him children. They say that this king is going mad."

Seraena bit her lip. She wanted to scream. Why then, did they marry her off to this man's son and send their only daughter far away."

Saera pursed her lips and grasped her daughter's hands between her own. "You are a healer, Seraena. You must know of a way to conceive and conceive quickly."

She did know. But right now, she didn't want to do it, even to spite them. She wanted to shut her ears and run screaming, disapparate and go far away.

Go back to France. Home.

Right now, she was Gabrielle Delacour. She wasn't Seraena Veltaris.

And Gabrielle would have none of it.

But a rational part of her told her she had no choice but to go forwards. Everything else was gone.

She needed to go forwards.

For everyone's sakes.

She took a deep breath. "Very well, Mother. I do know a few tricks."

"Good," Saera beamed. She hesitated. Seraena looked up. For a moment there, it looked as if her mother was about to say something.

And then Saera stood and said: "Your brother Jacaenor will be accompanying you to King's Landing and for the wedding. I am afraid, you will have to say your goodbyes to the rest of the family." She left the room.

Seraena just stared where her mother had gone, Absently she flicked her wand and the magic needed to stitch, embroider, cut and whatever else flew into place. Needles threaded themselves and embroidered exquisite patterns in fine silks or sewed apparently seamless pieces of cloth together. Scissors snipped as they sliced everything perfectly. And apart from the noise, Seraena once again burried her face into her hands.

Saera.

Gabrielle Delacour, if she were being truly honest, had very few instances where she regretted being part-Veela.

Although Fleur and her mother had been better at using their appearance like armour and for putting the purely human elitists (not just the Pure-bloods), and arrogant and vain girls to their places, Seraena had been taught the same way and she was never truly alone. Fleur and her mother was always there for her, even if she needed an owl to contact them.

Here in this world, she was alone. And while she was not the victim of prejudice and bullying like in Beauxbatons, she was still treated like some exotic animal in a menangerie, or a priceless jewel on an auction lot, just on a pedestal.

As Seraena Veltaris, she was not as close to Saera as she had been with Apolline. Apolline and Antoine never cared if they had sons or daughters, how well they could marry, how high they could rise in the social ladder or whether they fitted the mould of the perfect family. The only thing they expected was for the girls to be moral, to be on their best behaviour and to work hard in school, so their grades would be well. But even if they were nothing like that, they would have loved them all the same. It was an unconditional love, and Gabrielle had flourished and thrived. She never realised just how priceless it was, until she lost it. How fortunate she had been.

She knew Ayrmidon cared for her, but she rarely saw him unless she was learning how to manage his businesses, and even then he tended to spend more time in the company of his sons. Seraena knew she shouldn't feel hurt, it was just the way he had been brought up, but it still hurt to know that she had less value, standing and importance than her brothers because she was female. She had been adored, cherished and nurtured by her parents and elder sister in her previous life and Antoine Delacour immersed himself wholeheartedly into the raising of his young daughters. Both he and Apolline never really cared if their daughters wanted to be unconventional, they encouraged them to be their own persons, to be proud of who they were, to have their own voices. When Gabrielle was once required to fill in a form, asking what she was: a pure-blood, a half-blood, a muggle-born, a squib, she paused. What on earth was she going to write. Antoine Delacour had shaken his head. He drew another box. "Make your own box." He told her. It was a moment Gabrielle would forever cherish, even as Seraena.

Seraena knew that Aeramor was her mother's favourite son. She was her mother's favourite child, but it wasn't an unconditional love, or maybe it was, just with a whole lot of pressure.

Saera was proudest of Aeramor of their sons because he was what she wanted him to be: a beautiful boy with slightly rounded, violet-lilac eyes, a lush cloud of perfumed ringlets and the classical features of an ancient Valyrian sculpture. His pretty looks would have generated mockery as well as admiration in Gabrielle's world, but they hid a shrewd and cunning mind. He was a businessman, the most highly-regarded in Lys. It didn't matter if you were a banker like Lysandro the Magnificent; the owner of the world's largest shipping company like her father, or the owner of a pillow-house establishment like Princess Saera Targaryen, Lady Saera's namesake. The profession of business was higher regarded than the profession of arms in Lys. Wealth was more important than lineage, though the latter was valued too.

Jacaenor she loved, but she did not understand. She would have preferred it if he had stuck to business and not become Braavosi. Saera complained about his Braavosi clothing, his love of martial arts, how he never went around without a sword at his hip, even his hatred of slavery (ignorant that her daughter shared the same sentiments). But he rose very high and was considered highly accomplished and admirable in Braavos and of that she was proud. Belaegor was the boy she wished she never had, not that she was cold-hearted enough to say that. Seraena had heard her mother complaining about his looks, how _ugly_ he was compared to her other children, how he looked so void of colour it was nauseating, _sickening_ to gaze upon him. Her ire grew when it was proven that he was a recluse and preferred the company of mystic priests and warlocks which caused people to whisper. That distressed her as she was worried about the family's reputation.

But was it any wonder he was a recluse if he had a mother like that? Saera's distaste for warlocks and mystic priests was what caused Seraena to hide her magic meticulously, from her own mother. Her father she was also not willing to risk. Only Jacaenor, Karina, Gazzan and Mira knew.

But what about Rhaegar? She would be living in full view of the public as a prince's wife. Could he be trusted?

Or would she be mistaken?

* * *

 **Well, Merry Christmas, folks!**

 **I was afraid that I could hardly keep anything up- in the past, I've been a victim of Writer's Block before- and I absolutely _hate_ it!**

 **However, I will say that this is not your typical reinarnation fic- and a run-of-the-mill Veela fic either. There's no magic soulmates, bonding or anything cheesy that remotely resembles Twilight in terms of plot and characterisation! Gabrielle/Seraena (and probably Fleur) is more complex than you think. I won't say whether she will fall in love with Rhaegar just yet, but she has a purpose in this new world.**


	5. Chapter 5

**To: iHateHotWeather123: I have never thought that a reviewer could be PROVEN so stupid. Why? 1. Cause it's only been three chapters so far- and yet you expect them to hook up. 2. In real life- much like ASOIAF, not your regular fantasy- if you get separated from your loved ones, YOU DON'T GET OVER IT QUICKLY- IT TAKES YEARS! Don't tell me if your parents, siblings and kids die, you'll move on fast. This is only her second decade in this world. That's _not_ emo- that's REAL people, mate. Being separated in a new life, a new existence AND a new world is just as bad as being separated through death (she did die in Egypt). As for the social-climbing mother and the largely-absent, workaholic father… Wouldn't _you_ miss your warm, loving family? Huh?**

 **Secondly, you disabled your private messaging so I couldn't respond or explain myself. You're every bit as stupid as those reviewers who are too scared to label yourself anything other than a GUEST yet leave flames without a fair chance to respond. Yet I've seen your profile page… How many stories have your written exactly? Your favourites are m-Preg and slash (nothing wrong with that), and more LEMONS/PORN than I can count. Yet _YOU CAN'T EVEN WRITE._**

 **To the rest of my readers: sorry about that. But if someone wants to leave flames- 1. They should make sure that no one will have anything to criticise themselves for- like not writing stories. And 2. Don't be a coward. Everyone has a chance to respond. Especially if you vent it out. And 3. Check what genre it is, and how many chapters there are before you complain about it being forever, and not instant lemons. Thank you.**

 **To TraduccionesNortia: Yes. She'll be arriving in Westeros this chapter! Yay!**

 **To greenisacolorto: Thank you! As for assassins, Gabrielle/Seraena will be more than capable to handle them- even if healing is her first ability. Besides, I don't think if Rhaegar had won the Trident and stayed with Lyanna, they would have been happy at all. It was a whirlwind romance at least- they had to deal with the war and other issues, so whatever time they spent with each other, it wouldn't be as much time as they needed to get to know one another. Most people forget that Lyanna is like Arya- would she love her children? Yes. Would she be happy in marriage? No. Rhaegar needed someone to be his partner, his equal, to stay by his side. He might have been attracted to her ferocity and independence, but it wouldn't have lasted.**

 **To Guest Reviewer 1: Cersei's reaction will come soon enough!**

 **To Guest Reviewer 2: Thank you! Because ASOIAF is more like real history than far-flung fantasy! If Catelyn hasn't gotten over Ned's supposed infidelity, Tywin over Joanna's death and Lysa over the deaths of her stillborn children, you can imagine that Gabrielle/Seraena's reaction to being forever separated from the ones she loved is better than one would have expected. She hasn't grown bitter or sour.**

 **To squidneko: Well, here it is! Sorry for the long update!**

* * *

 **Disclaimer : Do you really need me to say it? I don't own this.**

* * *

 **Winds of Westeros**

The best thing that came out of this was that Seraena managed to get to her garden at her private estates before anyone could grab her for clothes-fittings, farewell parties or anything like that. She stored away potion ingredients, potted plants, small animals which she raised (primarily for need- she did Care of Magical Creatures in Beauxbatons, but it was also because she needed the ingredients they gave her).

Back in France, Antoine Delacour, her first father, had taught her how to do an undetectable extension charm, a feather-light charm and charms to prevent muggles from knowing or seeing things. As a result, she had charmed a _casquette_ or a small chest. At first glance, one would only see a layer of clothing: delicate lacy things, a silver brush, comb and hand mirror, some fragrant soaps and delicate jewellery. She had placed her hand in the box and found the bottom of the case, but once she withdrew it and waved her hand, the _casquette_ transformed.

Once the Concealment Charm had lifted, one could enter a vast potions laboratory, magical conservatory, healing station/infirmary and library. A library to host her grimoire and vast collection of scrolls, illuminated manuscripts and leather-bound papers and parchments. She had a potions laboratory obviously to make the ingredients needed, a conservatory for magical creatures which she cared for. She had taken Care of Magical Creatures in Beauxbatons, but this was also based upon a necessity for potion ingredients. She had scoured all over the world to find these creatures, magical and mundane, for healing. Powerful wards and spells kept them safe and she cared for them extremely well, and she still followed French magical laws on keeping them and caring for them and their safety (despite being in another world). In a world where there was no established magical government, she had the liberty to do as she pleased, but she would be damned if she followed the Dark Arts.

She had heard of suitcases and trunks that could host entire places, like tents, but it was hard to replicate this, and it took years of her being extra careful, creating certain conditions for the animals, keeping them in their enclosures, and the plants too. They required certain environments and care. A Venomous Tentacula or the Devil's Snare was not likely to sit peacefully alongside a mandrake.

Amidst all of this, she needed to listen to her mother yammer around about her trousseau. She had been ready to send for the finest tailors and seamstresses in Lys, Myr and Volantis, but Seraena had had to put her foot down. Surprisingly, her father and just about everyone else backed her. The argument was that she needed to be seen not as a foreigner, no matter how stylish and fashionable, or beautiful. From the moment she set foot in King's Landing, she needed to be Westerosi. Saera's idea had been to find out the latest fashions of Westeros and replicate them with tailors and seamstresses in Lys, but that was shot down again because as Seraena, Jacaenor, Aeramor and Ayrmidon so eloquently put it, no matter how swift the ship crossed over to the Narrow Sea, by the time Seraena arrived in Westeros, she would be laughed at for adhering to last season's fashions.

So Lady Saera had grudgingly conceded, and brought only countless silks, satins, samites, velvets, brocades, linens, wool and fur.

Seraena was almost relieved when the time came to leave. But as she wandered around the gardens of her family's estate, she realised that this had been the only home she had ever known in this world and this life- _her_ home. Her shelter, sanctuary and retreat, where she could hide in safety from the outside world.

And now she was about to leave it for somewhere where her fate and future would be ruled by a _king_ who had the _absolute_ authority over everything.

 _I never knew,_ she thought sadly. _I never realised it. I missed France so much. I still do. I wish I'd been married and had children there- a much safer world than a world which forces children to marry before they've fully matured and lacks proper healers. Somewhere where it does not matter if your child is a boy or a girl._

 _But they're my family._ And it occurred to her that that was their way of expressing love. What did they know? Over here, if you cared for your child you controlled everything about them; you pushed and fought for their position in life, and that included marriage. Social-climbing was a necessity in this world that was the hard truth. There was no safety, no relative peace and comfort, and certainly none of the easiness granted by magic.

Seraena sighed and closed her eyes. _What have I gotten myself into?_ Without Jacaenor, Mira, Gazzan and Karina she would have wished she had never gone to Egypt.

But there was nothing she could do. And now Seraena Veltaris, formerly Gabrielle Delacour, realised that she was forced to move on.

* * *

The final night in Lys was a farewell dinner. Under Seraena's insistence- and Jacaenor's and their father's- Lady Saera's desire to make it a public banquet was quickly vetoed. Their father pointed out, now that Seraena was the future bride of the future king of much of Westeros, she would be scrutinised and her reputation inspected. Being displayed in front of large crowds before her marriage, like some courtesan would not do, he advised. In Lys, it would have been alright, but in Westeros, things were different. Besides, he explained, now that she was going to be married to a prince, she would be that much of a higher prize. They didn't want anyone to get any ideas, take their liberties and ruin Seraena's royal match. Saera had conceded, reluctantly. Seraena just didn't want to be displayed again. She wanted to say goodbye to everyone she had known in this world.

The feast had seen the family, however, reclining on couches, like the ancient Valyrians, the Romans and Greeks from her first world. Right hands for eating, left for leaning on. Two young maids from the Summer Islands strummed a harp; the other blew a graceful note from a flute. These maids were clad in embarrassingly sheer shifts (if one could call them that- they were more transparent than ghosts), with ceramic beads covering their most sacred parts. A slave from Volantis turned somersaults, lissome and lithe dancers swayed with the haunting melody.

Karina came, bearing golden platters piled with food: red and black crabs, fresh from the sea, the first caught in their nets. Cabbage in vinegar; snails with olive oil, herb and orange rind; clams; thrushes soaked in honey. A large spit was borne by two eunuchs, bearing the weight of its suckling pig; a salad of fruits grown in Lys, freshly gathered with rampion, cucumber, purslane, carrots, lettuce and herbs. It all tasted delicious but Seraena could barely manage to swallow a few mouthfuls.

Her mother looked at her. "Eat. You'll need it when you get to King's Landing. It's fortunate Mira is going with you. I do not know how these Westerosi eat, what foods they prefer."

"It depends on the region." Jacaenor muttered as he took a chunk of pork with spices, plum sauce and rosemary. Saera gave her firstborn a sharp look. "So it is settled then? You are to wed that Braavosi girl."

"It appears so," Jacaenor agreed, taking a crab. Belaegor had taken another one and was cracking the shell to reveal the soft, peppered insides.

Saera's lips pursed and she turned, waving her hand towards the honeyed thrushes. "On the other matter, Aeramor, how are negotiations?"

"Proceeding as planned," the second brother smoothly replied as he took a thrush. Seraena looked up from her bowl of clams and salad on her lap in order to look at her brothers' faces. Jacaenor was staring at Aeramor with an unreadable expression. Aeramor was as smoothly charming as ever, and Belaegor was indifferent.

The platter of thrushes came to Seraena. Gingerly, she took one.

Aeramor bit into some crabmeat. "Delicious. I shall miss Mira's cooking, little sister." Seraena blinked, nodding at her brother. "I am truly sorry for that, brother."

"Do not be," he said casually, as he sucked honey from his fingertips. "You'll need loyal friends in Westeros. Unfortunately, there won't be that many in court. They'll be jealous, bitter- afraid of your power, your ability- or not- to bear an heir. They will seek to take advantage of you, waiting until you turn to stab you in the back, but smiling to your face."

"I am not afraid of them." Seraena waved aside a platter of grilled pheasants.

"You should be," her brother pointed.

 _If only Aeramor knew…_

Her thoughts were interrupted when someone came and poured Jacaenor a large goblet of wine. Seraena stared. He never drank this much.

"In regards to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's court," Ayrmidon gained her attention. "Do not interfere in its workings or politics- at least not at first, not until you've proven yourself loyal to the Westerosi, and you have won them over."

Seraena blinked again. "How do you wish me to do that?"

"Simple," he brushed it aside. "With more than your looks. You've always been known to be kind- to the slaves, to the lowborn. Use that to your advantage."

"Speaking of which," Jacaenor interrupted. "Westeros does not permit the use of slaves."

"I will set them free," Seraena promised. "I intend to." She was not going to say for how long she had intended to do.

Her mother looked sour as she beckoned a tray of apricots drizzled in honey, a platter of crabs, and a bowl of duck in thick pomegranate sauce. "You should eat more, you are going to Westeros after all." She looked scornful. "These Westerosi. They like to pretend. The slavery here at least, is true and honest. The slaves are fed, they are happy." Seraena tried not to stare at her mother. _How much delusion will she stand?_

"Saera," Lord Ayrmidon said sternly. "Enough. To be accepted, to gain influence of any kind, to not make more enemies than she needs, Seraena must _become_ Westerosi."

"And your children will be Westerosi," Aeramor pointed out. He bit into a peach.

Seraena's stomach roiled, but she accepted the platter of fruits when it came her way. The peaches and apricots were mostly sweet, they scarce needed honey but it was there anyway. But Mira knew which fruit was sweet and ripe and which was not. She'd drizzled honey only on the sour ones.

Lord Ayrmidon looked pointedly at his wife. "Why else would you have had her tutored about Westeros- their customs, laws, geography and beliefs?"

Seraena lowered her apricot. "So it's true. You did plan for me to wed Rhaegar Targaryen, all my life."

"Not all your life," Lady Saera clarified. "Everyone assumed that Prince Rhaegar would wed his parents' daughter, but his sisters were stillborn. When I heard, I saw an opportunity. If he were not the son of a king, his fate set to be a king, I would never have wanted you to wed a Westerosi."

Seraena didn't know what to say. A rush of feeling flooded her, but all left her confused and befuddled. She could not even identify her emotions. On the one hand, she had expected this of Lady Saera, and on the other, she wished to live her own life. She had pathetically threw away that chance of a life, of a future without anyone's control when she went to Egypt. She had had a whole life ahead of her. Then, in Lys and this new world, she was controlled by her family, handed over to a man she never met to be his wife for the rest of her life.

 _Do I have a choice?_ She asked herself.

 _Remember, you are a witch, a Veela witch,_ a voice inside her head spoke to her.

 _Take your fate into your hands._

* * *

The next morning was the day of her departure. When everything had been loaded onto the ship, her father looked her in the eye.

"Take care, daughter," Lord Ayrmidon said softly. "Mayhap, our paths will cross again. We of mortal lands never know. Only the gods do. The blessings of Balerion, Syrax, Vhagar, Vermithor, Meraxes and Tessarion go with you." He invoked the names of the gods of Old Valyria.

"Remember, we are Veltaris," he insisted. "They will drape a black cloak with a red dragon with three heads upon your back, but you will never be rid of the blood in your veins. You are Veltaris and it is in our nature to move wherever the winds blew us. Jaenara Belaerys explored Sothyros upon Terrax, her beloved dragon. Ever since the death of our dragons, we do not slay our kin, nor do we recognise a single head, nor a single seat of power. Like seeds blown about by the wind, who settle and spring roots, and send their seeds elsewhere so they may grow without the interference of the parent plant. We do not wait to continue the legacy- we forge our own and settle the links within the chain.

"The Qaathi moved south, the Sarnori were pushed back by the Dothraki. The First Men, Andals and Rhoynar of Westeros planted roots in their new, land. But though you may go in their direction, bear sons for their throne, it is not in us to sit meekly and settle. We are Veltaris; we fly and ride with the wind. You do not know what the morrow brings us, which directions the wind stirs to rouse the dragon in our blood. Fortune favours the Bold. The Horizon has no limits."

Those were the words each Veltaris parent spoke to their offspring when the time came for them to leave to forge a new legacy to be linked in the chain. It was only then did Seraena truly feel as if she were part of something much larger than herself, than Gabrielle Delacour, then little Lady Seraena. And at that moment the winds blew, causing the sails to gust forwards to the west. To Westeros.

Perhaps it was a sign, Seraena observed. But she looked towards Lys. In all her life in Lys, save for the few golden moments of her father's attention, her time with Jacaenor, and the little time her mother did not spend fussing and pouting, she enjoyed this the most. It was the most beautiful beach she had ever seen, white sand sloping towards the cool blue-green ocean, breaking into waves crowned with seething foam. The palm trees dancing in the breeze; the birds singing when she woke; the tide lulling her to sleep like a song. And now it was time to go.

Seraena boarded the gangplank, with Karina just behind.

* * *

She didn't think she ever travelled so extravagantly. The gilded poop-deck appeared made out of beaten gold and the oars were painted silver. To make matters worse, the sails were purple and drenched in perfume.

Seraena was aghast. Her face burned. "These Westerosi are stingy. They will be accusing us of extravagance- they normally do with Lyseni." Jacaenor warned.

Karina frowned. "Surely it will not be that bad?" "No, but she will have to work twice as hard, if not more, to win them over. You don't know their priests, how strong their hold upon their peoples." He gave Seraena a look.

Mira _hmphed._ "Well, I shall see what mouldy bread and rat-infested rations these ships have." She hurried away. "Then I shall prepare the evening meal."

The elderly Gazzan and young, tall and lissome Karina began supervising the equipment. "Wait a moment." Seraena called after them.

Karina looked up. Mira froze and turned. Gazzan looked concerned. "What is it, my lady?"

Seraena made sure there was no one left besides the four of them. "Come here." Hesitantly they approached. She withdrew her wand.

It was the only thing she carried in both lives, made from a core of her first grandmother's hair, out of rosewood, fashioned by her father and another relative, with her mother choosing the design- a handle that looked like a rose. It was something she cherished and feared losing far more than her jewels.

She touched the wand at Karina's slave collar. _"Diffindo."_

The leather and metal fell apart. It clattered onto the deck floor. Karina looked astonished. She went over to Mira and pointed her wand at her collar. _"Diffindo."_

Her collar clattered. Seraena strode over to Gazzan. Giving him a small smile, she touched the wand on the collar of her elderly tutor. _"Diffindo,"_ she uttered softly.

It fell apart and fell. Gazzan looked startled and astonished. The three of them were too stunned to react. Seraena stowed away her wand. "Now you are free. There are no slaves in Westeros, and I do not intend to make exceptions to this law. Know that whatever path you choose, I shall ensure that you are well-cared for, for the rest of your lives. You will never want. Never again."

Gazzan was the first one to break the silence. "My lady," he began. "I am an old man. The years of my life have passed me, but the best of them, I must confess, was spent with you, in Lys, teaching you all that I know. I owe you more than my life and freedom. And I will not abandon you."

Karina hesitated. "Seraena… You are my sister, more than in blood. When the YiTish Emperor Bu Wan tried to regain Leng, my eldest brother was slaughtered in battle. My family was killed and I was sold into slavery. Even if I were to return, what do I have left? Who will welcome me and will my home even be my own? Does it still stand? I do not believe so. You are and have been the only family I have ever had for a long time, and will ever have most likely. I refuse completely to abandon you."

"Same," Mira said, her voice a hoarse rasp. "I had nothing, all my life, only my hands and their skills. The only one who truly loved my presence as well as my work, who looked in the kitchen and saw what I worked with and ate all my sweets-" Seraena smiled. "That was you. And in pleasing your tastes and table, I found my calling. Besides you need me to teach these Westerosi what to do!"

Seraena was truly touched. "Nevertheless, you will not be slaves. Not anymore."

* * *

Seraena's eyes flew open when the bells rang.

Immediately, she sat up on the bed, Karina blinking in the truckle bed beside her.

On deck, the sailors were screaming and shouting, yelling orders, instructions and responses in panicked voices.

Based on what Seraena heard she deduced one thing: ships- pirate ships- were approaching with speed.

It was the ship, Seraena realised. It was far too ostentatious and eye-catching in its obvious wealth.

Seraena shot to the deck. The waves were rocking insanely, and she cursed yet another stroke of bad luck to top of this one. Crewmen were pulling ropes, shouting orders, running frantically around the deck, but Seraena's eyes were focused on the approaching trio of Tyroshi pirate ships.

And the fact that they were isolated from any others. Seraena took a deep breath. She hurried to the side and planned whilst waiting. It did not look as if their ship would get away in time. All she had to do was wait.

"My lady?" Karina whispered. "Sh," she urged. "It's not raining. It's just the boats are rocking."

"Great gods!" Mira hissed, running towards them on the deck, soup ladle in one hand. "What is it?"

"The pirate ships are close enough," Seraena deduced. She nodded.

"My lady!" Karina and Mira both hissed. "You cannot put yourself in danger."

"You forget, my ladies, that I am a Valyrian witch," Seraena said calmly. "And as such, that my duty is to save those on board."

Then with a crack, she disapparated. The two former slaves rushed to the edge of the deck, trying to see where she had gone.

Right on cue, a pop signaled the arrival of Seraena onto the first pirate ship. They were indeed Tyroshi, with brightly-dyed beards, mustachios and oiled hair. She cast a disillusionment charm before they saw her.

The Tyroshi pirates were laughing, crowing and whistling in their glee at the luxurious ship. Until Seraena murmured: _"Incendio."_

Sure enough, a fire started on deck. The pirates yelled and one ran to stamp it out, his brightly-dyed blue hair and mustachio bells jingling.

Seraena cast the same spell. Fire was cast on the ship's mast and sails. It spread fast, and Seraena cast another, just to be sure. Then she hastily disapparated and ended onto the next ship. She repeated the process again and again for the other two ships, until they were all in flames.

Pirates screamed and many jumped overboard. Seraena quickly apparated back to her ship next to her former slaves.

"What has happened?" Gazzan appeared beside them, his olive eyes wide.

"We'd best be going," Seraena murmured, stashing her wand away.

The sailors had quickly calmed down and soon Westeros was spotted- King's Landing.

The first thing that caught to Seraena was the stench. She'd stumbled backwards. She was a healer and a traveller. She had smelled many foul things in her life. But she had never smelt King's Landing.

Seraena wondered if this was what Paris and London had smelt like when they were in the Middle Ages. The stench of at least a million souls forced to live closely together, in a place where fresh water was unsafe to drink, and clean water was scarce to come by. The smells of rotting meat and sour wine, unwashed prostitutes and brothel patrons, half-dried mud, dung from all creatures and more.

Karina gagged as she buried her nose in a scented handkerchief. "What is that awful smell?"

"I do not believe King's Landing smells as perfumed as Lys," Jacaenor remarked, mildly.

"Lys is called the Perfumed Sister, brother." Seraena pointed out. She glanced at them. "I will make scents in order to hide the stench from you, later."

"For now you must be ready," Jacaenor remarked. Karina took her and lathered her with perfumed oil and a rich soap from head to toe, whilst Jacaenor returned to his own cabin to prepare.

She applied a fair amount of hair potion, whilst Karina manicured and polished her fingers in a traditional French manicure as she instructed her. All her spare time in her cabin, she'd been bathed, scrubbed, polished like a plate, brushed and combed, like now. There was no blemish on her skin, but now its colour burned brighter than the stars. Her hair had never shone so bright, and her lashes were as long, thick and black as could be. When she was done, she donned a silvery-white gown and an interesting hairpiece. Her jewellery was minimal, a delicate gold chain on her wrist was one, but the hairpiece was made of pearls and cabochon amethysts, pearls trailing amidst her silver-gold tresses and in the parting of her hair, a single, solitary purple gem hanging at her hairline, right in the middle of her forehead.

"Are we ready, sweet sister?" Jacaenor asked.

"As ready as we will ever be," was her response. She could always leave, get out of here if need be.

But responsibility told her to stay.

As soon as they departed the ship, the stench slammed into Seraena's nose, threatening to cause her to gag. Seraena had had to use all her training in social graces and etiquette in order to remain calm. As she expected, a loud gasp of astonishment and awe came across the onlookers. There were many. Merchant-class tradesmen with reasonably fine clothes and jewellery, to the raggedy poor, dressed in torn sackcloths, hemp and thin as sticks, skin weathered by the burning sun and parched by years of cold winds in winter, and seemingly covered in mud, dirt and dung. There were few nobles however, she noted as everyone's jaws dropped at her beauty (Veela charm or Valyrian looks, she never cared to find out which one was more appealing to others), and some seemingly turned purple from lack of air. As if, she wondered, they would not be used to the lack of fresh air, considering the foul, awful stench, the terrible gases that stemmed from rubbish, natural waste in this place. She barely noticed their reactions (she was used to them, of course), but the surrounding area and the state of the people were another thing.

How could anyone live like this? She wondered. At least in Lys, Volantis and the other Free Cities, slaves were clean, housed and fed. Freedom, she realised, came at a terrible price. Where else would they get food, clean water, and proper housing from? Some lord typically provided for them, if they owned them. In France, Britain and many other countries, no one ever lived like this. At least not for hundreds of years.

"My lord and lady," her eyes turned towards Lord Steffon Baratheon. "Welcome to King's Landing." He bowed. Dressed in a forest-green satin tunic, his hair brushed and beard newly-trimmed, he cut a striking figure. Flanking him were two knights. Yes, Seraena/Gabrielle knew what a knight was. They were dressed in armour with a cloak hanging from their shoulders, as white as freshly-fallen snow.

 _The Kingsguard, the elite and noble warriors of the king,_ she realised. _Chosen for their bravery and valour, as well as their skill in arms. They swore a vow not to wed nor to sire children, and to forfeit all lands and titles in order to serve the king and the realm. A valiant sacrifice, one that no one should take lightly. After all, how many people will forswear that?_

"These are Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard," Lord Steffon introduced. "And Prince Lewyn Martell of Dorne."

 _Martell,_ Seraena wondered. This was a member of the princely family of Dorne?

As for Selmy, his name sounded familiar... Yes! He was the one who dealt with the last of the Blackfyre pretenders, wasn't he?

The two knights bowed from the neck. She could feel them staring at her in awe, shock and amazement, but discipline told them to keep things under control. Seraena respected them for that. She might be used to them, but she did not like being gawped at.

"We are most relieved to see you arrived safely," Lord Steffon confessed. Seraena did not doubt it in the least. He looked beyond relief. "Last we heard, a band of Tyroshi pirates were seen nearby." His brow furrowed. "It was truly a miracle that disaster befell them before they came near you."

"It was," Jacaenor said dryly. Seraena observed that a lot of tension had gone from Lord Steffon the moment she was spotted. The pressure on him to ensure her arrival must have been enormous, she realised. Either that or King Aerys was determined to have her marry his son. She suspected both.

""Shall we proceed to the Red Keep, my lord and lady?" Lord Steffon inquired. Seraena nodded, features relaxing as she glanced around. She spotted a little girl dressed in a ragged dress, so filthy it was hard to determine its true colour, and clutching a posy of wildflowers. The only pretty thing she found in this city, no doubt, Seraena thought sadly. She was clutching the hand of an older girl, whose thin, plain face left no doubt that they were both sisters. A chord struck through her heart. Although they looked nothing alike, and their circumstance were very different, the pair reminded Seraena of Gabrielle and Fleur. Without thinking she made her way towards them.

"My lady?" She heard someone ask behind her. She did not stop to pay them any heed. Bending to the height of the little girl (whose dark eyes were wide as saucers), the two sisters and those nearby seemed to have trouble breathing.

Seraena smiled gently. "Hello," she said, trying not to intimidate.

If possible, their eyes went wider. "You are sisters?" She asked them. Looking like frightened rabbits, they nodded. "What are your names?"

"I'm Rohanne, milady," the elder stuttered. "And this is Ellen."

Seraena's smile widened. The younger girl could only stare mutely clutching her posy. "Are those for me?" She asked. Tiny Ellen nodded mutely. She thrust the posy of wildflowers towards her, turning red. Seraena smiled, she was touched and she let them know it. "Thank you," she surprised everyone when she kissed Ellen on her tiny cheek. But she also pressed two tiny morsels wrapped in linen into Rohanne's palm. They were something she had baked and come up with herself. Nutrient-wise it would keep them energised, going and cleanse their systems for quite some time. They also tasted nice. "For the both of you," she stated.

Straightening, she glanced at those around her. Smiling at awed onlookers, she made her way back to the palanquin they had for her. It was cramped, dusty, hot and uncomfortable, but she bore it with good grace as she was expected to do. The door slid shut behind her and they trotted off.

In all honesty, she didn't know why they bothered. It was a show of status, nothing more. Before long the Red Keep emerged in front of her.

Gabrielle had seen a great deal of medieval castles in her time, she was no stranger to their like. Aside from Beauxbatons, she had seen Hogwarts. She had visited Ilvermorny in America, when she was studying healing and potionmaking, the Native American way. But the first thing that struck her was that this castle, although well-made and compact, was how ordinarily mundane and miniscule it was. In a fortress or stronghold of magic, you could sense it, _feel_ it from a mile away, seeping beneath your skin. Sweeping over the surrounding areas, filling them with whatever they wish it to be. Warmth, a welcoming aura. Strength, or even dread and despair. The Red Keep was miniscule in comparison to Beauxbatons, Hogwarts _and_ Ilvermorny, it was so ordinary, you could tell, not a single ounce of magic remained- and they had said it was carved the Valyrian way. Well, the Valyrians would have lost their magic by then. Size didn't matter, but she could sense the comparatively tiny walls trying to close upon its inhabitants, squeezing the daylight out, like a tiny gnome trying to return back into its hole.

Still, it was rather pretty, Seraena had to admit. The pale red stone that gave the Keep its name was a nice touch, Seraena thought. She could spot seven drum towers, huge and wide as they were tall, crowned with iron ramparts. Massive curtain walls surrounded the Red Keep, and she could see crenellations for archers, the traditional great bronze gates, portcullises, and the curtain wall.

 _It's not as dangerous as school,_ Seraena thought to herself with a smile. If anyone tried to harm her here... Well, she had her magic as well as guards.

And yet, she did not like the thought of that.

Seraena slid the window-shutter closed, and saw Jacaenor brooding there with an unreadable expression. "I used to think Lys was despotic," he murmured. She touched his arm. "I know."

Soon after the palanquin stopped. It lowered to the ground and the doors opened for them. Seraena got out after Jacaenor, taking his arm in order to stop herself from tripping. Casting her eyes across the courtyard, she saw that Steffon Baratheon was waiting for her. "My lord and lady, the king, queen and Prince of Dragonstone awaits."

Perhaps a tingle of nerves settled on Seraena. She did not care or notice. As they came across the double doors that without a doubt, lead to an imposing throne room, Seraena felt Jacaenor's hold upon her tighten.

The doors swung open.

Seraena's heart jolted in shock. Some of the largest skulls she had ever seen framed a path in the middle of the hall. Large, cavernous skulls glittering, black as jet, some of the largest heads she had ever seen. Dragons, she knew.

Seraena was so shocked, startled and awed by the macabre sight, that she almost forgot the other inhabitants of the hall. A collection of richly, even gaudily, dressed nobles, men and women, all looking at her with expressions of what was easily predicted. After which came shock, awe, delight or horror, rage, jealousy, scorn and contempt.

 _I've seen it all in Beauxbatons,_ Seraena thought. They did not affect her.

But at the other end of the room, stood a monstrosity which was surely a nightmare to sit on, more than those dragon skulls are to look upon, was Seraena's opinion. Lines and hedges of sharp barbs, black iron, seemingly grew and mounted to a throne-like shape. In the midst of it, sat a middle-aged man, thin, feverish and gaunt, lines wearying his face prematurely, hardening it, his hair straggled and growing beneath the heavy crown of red-gold. His pale lilac eyes gleamed feverishly, fanaticism and a gleeful delight within. So it was true, she thought. The king was going mad.

Beside him on a chair, sat the woman in white, with silver hair and purple eyes. Queen Rhaella. But standing on the other side of the king was a tall young man.

His hair was a shimmering silver, gleaming like ice beneath a winter sun. His face was regal, elegant and handsomely carved, sculptured and chiselled with patrician features: a straight, thin nose; high-sculptured cheekbones; fine chiselled lips and a defined, strong jaw, but certainly not heavy. They were both ariistocratic and otherwordly. He was garbed in red and black, his lean and muscular form cutting a striking figure.

So this was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Seraena knew that even Fleur would have to be impressed with him if they ever met. She didn't think that such a good-looking man ever existed. But looks was one thing. What she really wanted to know was if she could live with the man for the rest of her life.

A pair of striking deep, indigo eyes met hers. They seemed to pierce her soul. It was unnerving. No one had ever looked into her eyes as if they would gauge every secret from her, everything there was to know about her. No one should be able to read her so thoroughly. And that was what frightened her.

This man looked as if he knew her soul.

Seraena had taken a hundred men gawping, purpling and drooling at her. She had taken their lustful gazes and lewd remarks, their eyes disrobing her within their minds. But she was struck with the shocking realisation that she had never had to deal with a man like Rhaegar Targaryen.

And she had absolutely no idea as how to even begin.

* * *

 **Sorry for the late update folks- I've been sick for quite some time, and busy before that, and before _that_ came the writer's block! **

**But here it is! And the next update is coming soon.**


	6. Chapter 6

**To TrickyImp1305: Thank you so much! **

**To Bella-swan11: Unfortunately it's not just the women. Westerosi men are every bit as crazy as the women, although in a very different way. Can you imagine what a girl with Gabrielle's looks would incite them to do? **

**To Tashio: Thank you! I agree- there's no point in whining if no one is going to say anything constructive! Yes, we'll have Rhaegar here... And some surprises. **

**To iHateHotWeather123: I respect _constructive_ criticism- not your pointless whining. Not a single ounce of constructive criticism anywhere, to the point that at least THREE other reviewers have read your reviews, and agree that the only thing you do is whine. Seriously? And did you even bother to answer:**

 **1\. When I tried to PM you it said: PRIVATE MESSAGING DENIED. This could only mean you blocked it (or someone else did- but most likely: you).**

 **2. _She has only just arrived in Westeros._ First: prologue. First chapter: Realising where she was. Second: Steffon Baratheon comes. Need I go on? You expect instant lemons, blood and death, Rhaegar, et cetera? They only just met last chapter.**

 **3\. Her family consists of a workaholic father and a social-climbing mother who plays favourites with her sons, and uses Seraena/Gabrielle as a pawn. Only Jacaenor can be counted as reliable and loving. Seriously?**

 **4\. ASOIAF consists of realistic characters. People don't get over things so quickly. She's separated from her first family by death- only _she's_ died. Has Catelyn gotten over Jon Snow's existence? Has Tywin gotten over Tyrion's status as a dwarf and Joanna's death in childbirth? No. So, if you don't like realism and want something else, don't go for ASOIAF in general. Not just the fanfics.**

 **5\. Do you really believe you have the right to flame when you don't even write? That's right I've been to your profile. No written stories. So, try to stretch your brain for some imagination before you flame. _WRITE YOUR OWN STORIES BEFORE YOU CRITICISE HOW OTHERS WRITE._**

 **To Beloved Daughter: I hope to show she makes some actual, but realistic changes.**

 **To sddc0: Hope you like it. 😉**

 **To ZeroJ25: And here it is!**

 **To Isles: Thank you.**

 **To WeylandCorp4: Thank you so much! And thank you for your message.**

 **To timijaf: Thank you.**

 **To Guest Reviewer 1: She will show some of her skills later on (not just healing).**

 **To Guest Reviewer 2: The action will start soon enough, but do you really expect action right after she arrives in Westeros? She has magic, and she has travelled all over Essos. She has gone on adventures, she has fought.**

 **ASOIAF is known for its realism. If YOU were plucked out from the real world. I know you want action, just as you want a happy ending, but consider: 1. Do you expect instant White Walkers/Others, Lannisters-Starks clash and Targaryen dragons in FIVE CHAPTERS? THIS IS ONLY CHAPTER SIX! And would YOU really get over things so quickly? If _you_ were suddenly plucked from the real world and your loving family, _would you get over it?_ There are characters in ASOIAF who don't get over it as quickly- e.g Catelyn and Jon Snow, Tywin and blaming Tyrion for Joanna's death. And while you can say that the former characters are flawed, _what would you do if you were in their position and faced with the same reality?_**

 **At least _Seraena/Gabrielle_ is moving on, it's a progress, but she's moving on. She only has Jacaenor, the rest of her new family really have their own agendas that they consider more important. she has adapted- heck, she's adapted way better than Fleur would have- remember how she was in Hogwarts, how she was constantly moaning about British food, ugly suits of armour and poltergeists?**

 **To noname: Thank you. I'm sorry I can't give away any spoilers, but you will see! 😉**

 **To thebestpeopleinlifearefree: Thank you!**

 **To dark.wizard92: Yes I agree absolutely! But there's nothing too much about apparating onto a ship not so far away and setting it on fire with magic. As for Cersei… Well, I hope I don't disappoint!**

 **To AvalonRivers: Thank you.**

 **To ptolemy101: Thanks! Well, coming from magical, modern France, it's about time she can help them along.**

 **To Meilinfan: Sorry for the length! I didn't choose Fleur for several reasons:**

 **One, is that she's already been in the spotlight.**

 **while Gabrielle might have difficulty adjusting, she would keep her opinions to herself, and search for some light amidst all of this. She's not a complainer as compared to her older sister.**

 **Fleur has already lived her own life, a good life, formed her own opinions, et cetera. Gabrielle is underrated and we barely see her, we don't know who or what she's become or what she was capable of.** **Seraena/Gabrielle is a story that hasn't been told. I picked her because we know so little yet she promised so much. We know that Veela- or even part-Veela like Fleur causes quite a stir because of their beauty and grace. But we also know that they are part-human, and part-humans, like Hagrid who's part-giant, are often treated worse than muggle-borns, to the point where they become ashamed and hid their identity. What would Gabrielle have gone through in her life? Being a part-human, with beauty which could cause all sorts of attention, from jealousy to lust? Prejuidice against her status perhaps? With an elder sister like Fleur, whose shadow she may have been crushed under? With a deeply warm and loving family? She was too young to fight in the wizarding war, too young to even go to school in the books, but she was there at Bill and Fleur's wedding when the Death Eaters crashed the party. How they must have treated the family, I couldn't imagine. It must have made an impact on her. Gabrielle had a story to tell- in both lives.**

 **To Guest Reviewer 3: I think you have the wrong fanfic- I did check everything. Besides, I did graduate with a degree in English and Creative Writing. Ask someone else if you really don't believe me.**

 **To Guest Reviewer 4: Yes, the wedding will be on soon. As for the dragon eggs, I'm, afraid I can't give away any spoilers- sorry!**

 **To alice: Merci. ****J'espère ne pas te décevoir.**

 **To Mayuraheika: Thank you! I hope Cersei's reaction doesn't disappoint!**

 **To falciatore1669: Thank you. You are, to put it simply, absolutely right. They are such complex characters, and even in archetypal stories, where you have the 'shapeshifter character' like Snape, the hero- Harry, the 'villains' Draco and Voldemort. It never really seems like that. And yes, contrary to what whiners believe, she is actually mourning the way anyone would mourn if they were separated from their loved ones, by entire worlds. She is going to stir things up and she is going to change things, we can be sure of that. She might not do it instantly but she will do it.**

 **To alia00: Thank you.**

 **To valdr: I understand your concerns, but although we have no way of knowing how much wealth the Veltarises has accumulated, there are other factors. We know the Lannisters are wealthy, but their incomes depend on the Westerland mines. This family, due to its own policies have always insisted in sending their children to do real work, as well as dividing their inheritance. Some have been bankers (like Aeramor) and more- not just merchants. I think their skill is managing their money and estates, without having to get involved in politics (except for Seraena) as well as generating numerous ways to get income. Besides, in Westeros, how many people simply wait for their parents to die and/or pass on the inheritance, instead of working? The Freys, for one, are all waiting instead of going out, making great names and fortunes for themselves, are hanging around, scheming, whining and sulking and waiting for Walder Frey to die. The Lannisters manage it better but are no different (why else would they be so desperate to send that useless Lancel to become a squire). There's way too many Lannisters too, and they can't all be the head of the house and be as well-supplied as the main branch )Tywin, Cersei, Jaime and Tyrion, so they needed to find a way to get themselves to get the fame and cash if they can't get the fair share they think they deserve.**

 **To Esm3rald: Thank you! Don't expect _unrealistic_ romance though!**

 **To Cloudedstargazer: Thank you! Yes, as she's a healer it would make sense, and her family aren't like the Westerosi nobles who just sit around and wait for the head to die so they can have their own money. Thank you so much- I can't give away any spoilers though! I hate writer's block but the main characters of AGoT will appear here.**

 **To Nate88: Thank you! Yes, Gabrielle is sadly left blank and to remain in the shadow of her more famous acquaintances and sister. We do not even know what she must have suffered when during her sister's wedding, the pure-blood supremacist Death Eaters attack.**

 **To Guest Reviewer 5: Here it is- sorry for the long wait!**

 **To ImploringIdeal: Thanks- but sorry I can't give away any spoilers- there will be clues, however. **

**To Guest Reviewer 6: Well, don't expect anything _BAM!_ Instant Romeo and Juliet (this is a realistic fantasy). But here's the next chapter. **

* * *

Dreams, Desires and Destinies

One of the things that slammed into Seraena apart from the reality of the present situation, was the familiarity.

Why? She had dreamt this. A dream which frightened her, and compelled her to put it from her mind. Even to the point of forgetting it. She had neglected to speak about it to Jacaenor, and Karina. She had even forgotten about it. But when those indigo eyes met hers, even after her eyes had moved from the monstrous throne, did astoundment slam into her. She had seen those eyes before.

And so did Prince Rhaegar. He knew this woman.

They knew each other, and though it may seem a dream, it was far from a good one.

* * *

It was a nightmare which they shared.

Seraena remembered dreaming of fire, fire rising to the sky, tongues of flame licking up to the moon.

She dreamt of ice, frosty blue hail and snow, so freezing and thick it blocked out the skies and buried the land under countless layers of thick snow and ice.

She dreamt of a tall man with a chiselled face, his hair of silver-gold streaming down when he removed his helm. Dark indigo eyes sparkling. His eyes were fixed solely on her.

She dreamt of a voice of iron and gold, murmuring, 'The Dragons has three Heads.'

SUddenly, a cloud of fire turned green, an impure, terrifying, poisonous green, every bit as dangerous as the Killing Curse, if not more so. The fires rose, threatening to engulf the castle of red stone.

She dreamt of three eggs laid within three cradles. Three babies were swaddled by their sides, and the embryos within the shells stretched and reached out with their tails, entwining the human babes, breaking their shells until they each became one.

She dreamt of the figure of a woman dressed in the finest silks and Myrish lace, a crown on her head, a dragon hatchling on her shoulder. It gave a cry, a shrill, shrieking sound that echoed all throughout the realm.

Then the fire was back; green and choking, and the ice, the ice which stung and stabbed worse than any weapon or Valyrian steel sword. It threatened to choke her, to weigh her down, to burn her, and to kill her all at once.

The fire on oen side, the ice on the other, and the sound of voices like crackling ice amidst the shriek of dragons in the distance. She knew they were coming closer. She just didn't know which would reach her first.

And she saw a throne; made of barbed, burnt and blackened iron swords hammered together. Dark, sickening, menacing and threatening; it was uncontained, unlimited, mad power. A madness which threatened to spread. It towered above all and she struggled to escape its shadow.

Within the towering, dark and grim monstrosity, a man was seated within, wearing a heavy crown of red-gold with three dragon-heads their eyes, gems. His hair and beard had grown long, scraggly and matted, his long, talon-like fingernails grasping the arms of the throne. The blood seeped from his fingers and dripped onto the floor to mingle with the blood that had already pooled there. Blood which she realised, with a growing terror, that flowed like a river into a sea or an ocean full of blood... and an island of corpses and ash.

Seraena was surrounded by them. And then the flames were back and the cracking sounds of ice and snow. she was surrounded with it, as she was surrounded with the piles of corpses. Corpses, which she saw in horror, began to shudder and move, to pull themselves to their feet and reach out towards her.

The fire rose higher, as did the ice and snow.

A fevered glint was spotted within the man's eyes- a horribly familiar, maniacal glint in his lilac eyes. "BURN THEM ALL!" He yelled as Seraena had gasped, jolting awake.

At the same time, the prince named Rhaegar Targaryen jolted and burst from his sleep within the safety of his chambers in the Red Keep.

* * *

Unlike Seraena, Rhaegar did not forget the dream so easily, not until he found himself in the great hall, caught up by the tide of the court, awaiting the arrival of his future bride.

Through the corner of his eye, Rhaegar cast a glance at Lord Tywin. There was no sign of Lord Steffon, so the Lord of the Stormlands could only have gone to escort his bride.

Lord Tywin Lannister, head of House Lannister and Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, did not look pleased. But he did not allow his displeasure to be shown, carefully holding that mask of indifference in place. In truth, while Rhaegar knew the Lannister lord was not pleased that his daughter Cersei had been scorned as his potential bride, there were other matters in mind. As always that mask of calculating indifference never gave way to joy, nor anger, nor even annoyance and sorrow.

His mother looked composed and regal as always, but Rhaegar sensed her growing curiosity towards this bride that Lord Steffon had found, and that the king had eagerly agreed to without a moment's thought. For the first and last time in his life, Rhaegar blessed the gods for his father's actions today. He had finally emerged after weeks of seclusion, leaving affairs of state to Lord Tywin, but now he sat on the Iron Throne, wearing orange-red and black, bright as flame. His hair and beard were unkempt but shorter than before.

At last, Rhaegar turned his attention to the opening doors- and the growing crowd that had gathered. But all thoughts or anything in his mind had vanished as the sight of his future bride slammed into him.

She was, simply put, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Or, more accurately, the most beautiful _creature in this world._

The words _goddess_ and _vision_ could not describe radiant beauty that glided into this room, so breathtakingly heartbreakingly beautiful, every breath was stolen, with loud gasps, bugging eyes and the crash of goblets and plates dropped by servants. The purpling, shocked, and gawking faces of the individuals faded before the silvery glow radiated by the lady, like the moon's light or the stars, radiantly illuminating the blackest night. Impossible as it seemed, she _glowed._

Her luminous skin was pale, silvery-white, shaming the moon's glow and the stars'. Her silky mane of silver hair cascaded all the way to her waist, gently waving, like a waterfall of the brightest, purest, shining metal, down her willowy form to her tiny waist. She had the most delicate, perfect features; very large, the deepest and the most richly-coloured violet eyes framed by long, silken black lashes that met his without flinching. Without the slightest trace of fear, shyness, coyness, lust, avarice or desire.

There was a mild surprise, but she quickly concealed it. It had appeared when she had seen him. He wondered what it was, what could have surprised her. But the lady showed no indication of her earlier thoughts as she approached the dais. Rhaegar noticed the way she moved, gliding like smoothest water, or floating like softest air, as if she did not possess two ordinary feet, but invisible wings. He did not understand any of it. Out of the corner of his eye, as some started- with difficulty- to overcome their shock, Rhaegar saw his mother cast an incredulous, disbelieving glance at Lord Steffon. The Baratheon lord only shrugged sheepishly as Rhaella's eyes met his, as if to say, _Sorry, but you would not have believed me if I had told you._

Well, he wasn't wrong about that, Rhaegar nearly snorted. There was no possible way Lord Baratheon, who was not even a master poet, could ever describe such beauty and be believed.

The lady came to a stop before the dais, and although Rhaegar and everyone else, was still staring at her, he noticed that there was a young man by her side. He had the Valyrian colouring, silver hair and lilac eyes, he was strikingly handsome, but there was no resemblance. Not at first, it seemed. But the shape of the eyes, a unique almond, might have been one. On his own he would have cut a striking figure. But next to the maid, like everybody else in the room, he dimmed terribly in comparison. The lady filled everyone's vision with her radiance it appeared that no mortal eyes could ever fully scope the full extent of her loveliness.

 _This is no ordinary maid,_ Rhaegar thought. He did not know what made her appear like the overly exaggerated poems and tales of the mystical past, only… More. He doubted even Shiera Seastar could have competed with her loveliness. Rhaegar wondered how this woman would be perceived by the annals of history, no doubt there would be tales about her. The most cynical and bitter would accuse her of witchcraft, of course. The wildest, would say she was a goddess.

"Your grace," Lord Steffon stepped forwards. "May I introduce you to the Lord Jacaenor, son and heir of House Veltaris. And the Lady Seraena of House Veltaris."

The two siblings stopped directly in front of the dais, bowing and curtsying in turn. Aerys' eyebrows had shot up as he gazed wide-eyed from the bride to Steffon, with not the slightest trace of amusement.

"Yes, welcome," he waved a careless hand. "I must admit, when Lord Baratheon spoke of your exceptional beauty my lady, he did not mention it would be outstanding." He chuckled, and Rhaegar inwardly winced at how rude he seemed. He struggled to cover up his father's lapse before he could give offence.

"Welcome to King's Landing and the Seven Kingdoms," he said hastily. Their eyes turned towards him. Her brother's eyes were calculating, clever, bold yet cautious. "We are honoured by your presence."

Seraena's eyes observed him. _So, a clever man…_

"Yes," Queen Rhaella stood. "Welcome." Her eyes left Seraena once more, and settled amusedly at Steffon. Seraena knew that there was no possible way Lord Steffon could have told them of her appearance without causing disbelief. By the sheepish, embarrassed way the Baratheon lord's expression had settled, he was thinking the exact same thoughts.

"Thank you, your graces," the elder brother spoke. The lady inclined her head, but her sharp eyes told Rhaegar that she was more wary than meek. "I trust your journey was uneventful?" The queen politely enquired.

"Save for the foolishness of a few pirates, completely uneventful," Jacaenor Veltaris replied smoothly. _This_ caught his attention. Pirates...

His mother shared the same sentiments. "Was anyone harmed?" Rhaegar asked. "On our side, none." Lord Jacaenor spoke. "The pirates' ships caught fire, no doubt due to their own mismanagement. They burned before they could reach us."

Lord Tywin's eyebrow rose. "How fortunate," he said stiffly, descending from the dais. "I do hope that your stay shall be a pleasant one here in the Seven Kingdoms." His cool pale green eyes, flecked with gold, scanned the new arrivals.

Clearly, he had been hoping to intimidate. But Jacaenor met his gaze with an even one that matched perfectly. The king clapped his hands together. "Yes, a true sign of the gods, a miracle, meant to bring you here, and all those that would impede you shall be reduced to ash." Seraena's startled look went unnoticed before the king. Rhaegar winced inwardly. "For now we must have you settled. The negotiations-" he gave a sharp glance at Tywin. "Can wait."

Tywin bowed. "As you wish, your grace." Jacaenor bowed as well, and his sister performed an exquisite curtsy, smooth as silk and water.

Once the guests had been escorted into their chambers, the breathless whispers, full of awe, shock, amazement and disbelief, grew into a frenzy. Rhaegar turned towards his mother. His father was mumbling something beneath his breath about this being a sign of the gods... Fire and blood... Rhaegar dared not think about how his father thought of that particular incident. In all likelihood, the pirates were Tyroshi. And Tyrosh had been the seat of Maelys Blackfyre's recent rebellion.

But surely they would not dare harm a bride of House Targaryen, at least without the Blackfyres' support?

But Rhaegar did not have time to think as the guests went away. His bride-to-be met his eyes. There was a searching, a curiosity that was far from unintelligent in her luminous orbs. It stunned him because no other woman he had seen nor met, highborn or low, had ever looked at him in such a way.

* * *

"What do you think of her?" Rhaella asked once they had left the throne room for the privacy of her quarters.

"Of the Lady Seraena?" Rhaegar asked warily.

"Yes." Rhaella paused. "She is... Infinitely more beautiful than I expected. She may outshine Shiera Seastar in beauty. Although this may cause problems."

"How so?"

"Men duelled for the right to sit beside her. They killed themselves after falling from her favour. Poets competed and outdid themselves in writing songs about her beauty. And Bloodraven and Bittersteel fought to the bitter ends in order to possess her. Beauty, Rhaegar, incites wildness, weakness and the very worst in men and women alike. By this time tomorrow, word will have spread beyond the capital. People would kill themselves for a passing glimpse of her, and compete for her favour. As her husband, this will prove very challenging. I cannot say if the lady is as chaste as Queen Naerys or brazen as Shiera Seastar. But it matters little as they will still grow wild and mad over this maid. You, Rhaegar, will be the most envied man in Westeros," she warned. "Do not take this lightly, as this will mean men will hate you, for no reason other than envy and a lust which may never be sated."

* * *

Seraena had had to endure a lot over the next few days.

Apart from negotiations over the bride price and dowry, a frenzy had settled that went far beyond King's Landing. Word had spread about a beauty. A beauty formed by the gods on high that descended onto the earth to become the bride of a future king. A goddess, beyond words, fairer than any maid in history, songs and poetry, a beauty who caused awestruck and dazzled people all throughout the world to flock towards the Red Keep in eagerness and desperation, to see the haunting, heartbreaking and breathtaking creature whose radiant loveliness was said to illuminate the skies and cause the very air to be stolen from the breaths of others... As if Seraena would actually come and stand on the crenellations or the parapets of the Red Keep for all to see. Queen Rhaella was right, beauty drove people wild and mad beyond recognition.

As if that wasn't enough, servants and even courtiers constantly popped near Seraena's chambers, asking their servants constantly whether Seraena needed mulled wine, perfumes, bed-linen or silks for her embroideries.

* * *

The next few days were a frenzy of activity. Apart from attending negotiations, more suited for the haggling of markets, than those of courts and emissaries, the Veela-witch had had to endure the gaping, gawking, whispering, and wildly exaggerated tales (in Seraena's opinion), about her.

Word had spread throughout King's Landing and beyond, that a formed by the gods, had descended upon the earth to become a future queen. A beauty who caused awestruck and dazzled peoples to flock towards the Keep in eagerness and desperation to search out the haunting, heartbreaking and breathtaking lady who was said to illuminate the very skies with her appearance. _And_ cause the air to be stolen from the breaths of others… As if she would be standing on the parapets or the crenellations of the castle walls, the masses crowded to and around the Red Keep. Guards had had to deal with intruders breaking into the palace several times in order to catch a glimpse of the bride-to-be. Servants appeared at Seraena's doors constantly asking her handmaidens if she needed mulled wine, lemon cakes, bed linen and silk for embroideries. They tried to crowd the gardens below beneath what a few knew to be her window, until her own servants barred the doors and shuttered the windows closed before moving her into another chamber. They had already had to arrest intruders foolish and bold enough, to run near her quarters without permission.

As mentioned, Seraena was used to people gawking, staring and craning their necks to see her, whilst falling silent. But this was on a whole new level. She could not disappear, retreat as she normally did in Lys and France. As the prince's bride she was expected to put up a public appearance. And while she wasn't in her chambers, she was being constantly beautified in preparation for her wedding. Hair potions, magical masques, steam baths, manicures and pedicures, fixing her hair and magically sewing her trousseau and wedding gown, all the while ensuring that no intruder ever came through with magic, took its toll. It left Seraena drained.

She saw Prince Rhaegar at negotiations. They were clearly negotiating bride prices and the dowry and Seraena could not see the reason for all this pointless babble save in concern with anyone's pride.

No party could afford to back down. No party could afford to seem weak and to make what they had to offer appear cheap. A royal title would not be enough for the Veltarises to trade the first daughter in several generations, to the Targaryens. She knew that many of her father's kin, while they did not interfere in their affairs, viewed the match between Prince Rhaegar and a daughter of their blood as a humiliation and an insult. The Targaryens had been lower in rank, by far, than the Veltarises in Old Valyria. So, while House Veltaris may be spread out and disunited, Jacaenor still needed to appease the family name and honour or else their branch would suffer the wrath of the rest of the family, whoever and wherever theymay be. Seraena did not keep track of her father's relatives.

At the same time, Lord Tywin Lannister, the king's Hand, held a grudge. According to the gossip Jacaenor had implored Karina and Mira to find out, the castle courtiers and servants have all agreed that Lord Tywin had tried to wed his only daughter, a maid of twelve. Seraena tried not to wince at the implications of the young girl's age. Being wed at twelve or even betrothed was something she liked even less than arranged marriages.

But thankfully, though Lord Tywin and the Lannisters, seemed to think otherwise, King Aerys had rebuffed his offer. The king had once been firm friends with Lord Tywin Lannister and Lord Steffon, but years of envy and growing paranoia on the former's behalf directed towards Lord Tywin, had eroded that friendship. How long before he turned against him, Jacaenor had wondered.

It was treason, he admitted to Seraena, telling her she should never say these things out loud- at least not without her wards about. But at least now, Seraena wondered why Tywin was raising a steep dowry price…

Only to be countered by Jacaenor's demands of the bride price. Yet Jacaenor told his sister, it would be unwise to antagonise Lord Tywin further or to take him for granted. Aside from being the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin was also Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Warden of the West and lord of the richest house in Westeros.

So the negotiations were more slippery and full of difficulty than anyone had anticipated. But the king had been determined. It seemed as if no one else was good enough to be his son's bride.

At long last, both parties had conceded. Seraena managed to use her calming influence on Jacaenor and to see through some tricks the Westerlands Lord had tried to lure them into along with his allies. But smoothing the negotiations was only the beginning.

As soon as that was done, the king announced that wedding preparations needed to start immediately.

* * *

"I hate this place," Jacaenor muttered as he threw down his doublet upon the bed.

Seraena gave him a look and promptly resumed unpacking. Karina came and took a painting away. She had made it herself, although it was not enchanted.

"Do you think the king is agreeable?" She asked. She would be unpacking for permanent residence this time.

Jacaenor snorted. "The king is most certainly never going to let you out of his sight now." He scoffed. "If he wishes he could marry you instead. Or make you his mistress," he warned.

Seraena cast a nervous glance around the room, before remembering she had cast anti-eavesdropping charms around the room. "You shouldn't say things like that," she warned. "Even with my magic. It's dangerous."

Jacaenor nodded but said: "Everything's dangerous now. You've won a prize in which every lady in Westeros aimed for. Some wish to be his wife- and those are the highest ladies in the land. Lord Tywin Lannister- the Hand of the King- had a daughter whom he proposed to wed to Prince Rhaegar once old enough."

Seraena stared. "How did you know that?" They had been there for less than four hours.

"I have to know," Jacaenor said impatiently. "Open your eyes, and stop being so innocent." Seraena's cheeks flushed, but Jacaenor did not give her a chance to answer back. "Open your eyes. Everyone is going to be scheming and plotting against you now. And you may think this an over-reaction, but I have no doubt assassinations or plots to discredit and humiliate you- even frame you for treason- is being conducted right now." At Seraena's appalled look he continued:

"Get used to it. You have to be at least one step ahead of everyone, friends, allies, enemies, rivals- even neutral bystanders. This isn't a society like ours. Here a woman's worth depends on her birth, her wealth, her beauty and fertility. You've already got the first three, but no one knows for certain if you have the fourth, and therefore every jealous or simply vindictive individual will seek to discredit you. There are highborn ladies in the Free Cities who have been poisoned- some while pregnant." He shot her a glare. "You have to be at least two steps ahead- anticipate so you can guard yourself. Neutralise your enemies if you cannot eradicate them."

"I can safeguard myself against poison," Seraena managed. "That's a start, but should anyone find out about your powers?" Jacaenor arched a brow. "They could burn you alive."

Seraena suddenly felt a chill settle upon the surface of her skin. "I would still survive." She managed.

"And be hunted all your life- or killed another way." Jacaenor shook his head. "You cannot ever stop fearing for your life now. Our parents should never have agreed to this. Mother should never have paraded you so shamelessly in front of visiting guests."

His voice was filled with regret. Jacaenor sat down upon the chair, exhaling and putting his face in his hands. Seraena came beside him.

"Jacaenor," she began, hand gentle upon his shoulder. He looked up at her. "I will take your advice. I will be careful."

"That's not enough. You need to appear innocent, and you need to get your husband on your side, at least." He insisted. "Provide him with a male heir as quickly as possible- more children is preferable. I assume you have potions that can help with the matter."

Taken aback, Seraena nodded. "Use them." Jacaenor insisted forcefully. "And remember: every lady here- especially as you are the foreigner- will be looking to usurp you and have the king and prince put you aside. The highest-born will be aiming to be Prince Rhaegar's wife. The less adequate ones aim to be his mistress. Everything depends on him- and on pleasing everyone by maintaining an innocent charade."

Just then, the door knocked. Both siblings nearly jumped. Seraena stiffened, as Jacaenor had his hand upon the knife belted at his waist. She shook her head. "Who is it?" He called.

"An invitation, my lord and lady." The servant called from the other side. Seraena nodded and Karina opened the door.

The servant handed a parchment scroll, sealed with red wax and a string. Seraena watched warily as Jacaenor read through it.

"The queen has summoned us for a private dinner in her chambers," he said shortly, tossing the scroll aside once the servant had left.

* * *

That night, Seraena was dressed in plum silk. It was so smooth it ran through her fingers like water. She had never felt anything so soft. But her palms were damp, and the amethyst-encrusted silver jewellery did not aid her in the slightest.

"What do you think she wants?" Seraena asked. She resisted the urge to rub her hands on her dress.

 _I am a witch. I am a Veela. I am the daughter of House Veltaris,_ she forcefully reminded herself.

"Firstly to find out what kind of wife her son will be gaining, and to see if you are a threat." Jacaenor replied calmly.

"A threat?" Seraena was bewildered. "Why would she consider me a threat?"

They were being escorted by two kingsguard and the servant as they made their way to the part of the castle known as Maegor's Holdfast. It was a fortress within a fortress. The walls were twelve feet thick by the looks of them, surrounded by a moat filled not with water, but with deadly spikes ready to impale anyone unfortunate enough to fall. The only way in or out was through the drawbridge. The royal family's quarters resided within Maegor's Holdfast.

"She might think that you are about to usurp her authority and place, over the court, over her country, over her son…" Jacaenor gave her a look. "At times like this, I am glad I am a man. At least we think and deal with our rivalries head-on. You will be confused." Thank Merlin he was speaking in Lyseni.

"Thank you, my dearest brother," Seraena said sarcastically. "Now can we focus on meeting the royal family?"

They arrived at an intricately carved pair of heavy wooden doors. Two knights stood on duty. Seraena saw the cloak that flowed from their shoulders, white as snow. The Kingsguard.

Immediately they opened the doors. They needed no introduction. Inside Queen Rhaella was there, conversing quietly with her son Prince Rhaegar.

Rhaegar Targaryen turned. It appeared to be a Targaryen custom for him to wear blacks and red. Admittedly, it looked much more elegant than if he had shown up in robes of peach, pale blue or orange. Black was always elegant and he stood straight and tall, broad-shouldered and regally impressive in black trousers, a black silk knee-length caped jerkin with large, open sleeves and boots polished to a shine. The three-headed Targaryen dragon was emblazoned in front. It wasn't overly ornamented but it was respectful and tasteful enough not to offend the most critical. Yet what Seraena liked was that while he did appear respectful, he did not wet-comb his hair or oil it until it was drenched, nor did he dress in such frippery. He was not showing off to impress her. This was no braggart.

But it might not mean that they would be agreeable to each other.

Queen Rhaella turned. Seraena saw that she had indigo half-circles beneath her eyes. She looked tired. Yet she was kind. "Greetings and welcome once more." The queen said warmly. Seraena curtsied and Jacaenor bowed. The queen's eyes never left hers, but Seraena did not relax nor allow herself to look at the prince. She was too wary to be at ease.

"Please, sit." The queen invited, and the servants pulled out the chairs for them to sit down. "I understand that it is very different here in King's Landing than in Lys."

"Different, your grace, but it does not necessarily mean 'bad.'" Seraena informed.

Queen Rhaella's eyebrows rose in interest. "Oh? And are you eager to learn more."

"I am always eager to learn." Seraena said evenly meeting the queen's gaze and holding it calmly. "I have always sought to learn."

"My sister is a voracious reader and a scholar," Jacaenor explained. He took a sip from his chalice. "She has already learned about not merely Westeros, but the peoples and lands of the known world."

"Truly?" Queen Rhaella laughed lightly. "Then I believe the two of you have something in common." She glanced at her son.

Seraena blinked. Rhaegar asked her. "Which books and subjects do you enjoy?"

Surprised, Seraena answered. "Many things. I enjoy learning of the customs, beliefs and lands of different peoples in Essos, the Summer Isles, Sothyros and here in Westeros. I have spoken with peoples from various parts of the known world when they were invited to my parents' estate. I always sought to question them."

Rhaegar looked surprised and even impressed. "I always wished to travel to distant parts of the world to learn, but of course, that was not possible." She managed to keep the resentment from her voice.

Of course, she travelled, but it was always in secret, with few companions, heavy disguises and disillusionment charms, and constantly having to confund just about everyone on her whereabouts.

Rhaegar was gazing at her with a look on his face which she could not decipher. Jacaenor, his eyes flicking from Rhaegar to her, cleared his throat.

"In any case, sister, you are already in Westeros, surely this is exciting and adventure enough?" He pressed, with the slightest bit of insistence that suggested that he did not truly appreciate Rhaegar's fascination turning up a notch.

Before Seraena could respond, servants appeared bearing platters of food. There were crab pies, steaming hot; pheasant basted with honey, herbs and spices; a salad of sweetgrass, apples and rosemary; fish poached in wine-red sauce with oranges, lemons and pepper. It smelt quite good, much to Seraena's relief. But now she remembered that she was in severe danger of poison. As sumptuous as the meals in King's Landing were, they were like the courtiers; they could mask foulness with charm and beauty.

The queen did not seem to be overly concerned. The wine server came to refill their glasses, not that Seraena's required refilling. The wine was also good, she noticed as she sipped cautiously.

In any case, she kept antidotes to common and rare poisons to be certain.

"Oh, do forgive my neglect of my manners," the queen suddenly stated. She gestured to the kingsguard knights. "May I present Ser Barristan Selmy and Prince Lewyn Martell of Dorne?"

They bowed their heads. Jacaenor nodded politely towards them. "Indeed, even act is a great honour," Seraena stated. "Indeed, both your names ring with them even across the Narrow Sea."

As well it should. Barristan the Bold was the knight who defeated the last of the Blackfyre pretenders: Maelys the Monstrous, Seraena remembered. The Blackfyres were a thorn on the side of House Targaryen and the peace of Westeros in general. Born to a rebellious princess and her dissolute, debaucherous cousin (who would be the most inept king ever to sit upon the Iron Throne), the first Daemon Blackfyre had featured in the histories of the Seven Kingdoms as an acknowledged bastard (or love-child as the people in her previous life more commonly knew them as). He had been given the name of Aegon the Conqeuror's blade, when his father bestowed the sword upon him. He had risen in rebellion against his half-brother when denied the woman he loved- Princess Daenerys, his half-sister who was wed to Prince Mors Martell of Dorne- whose descendant was apparently the other knight in this room. He had the colouring of the Rhoynish peoples and Seraena marveled at his desire to be a kingsguard knight.

"Prince Lewyn's sister is the ruling princess of Dorne," Queen Rhaella continued the conversation between bites as they ate. "And one of my oldest and dearest friends. Alas, the princess has passed, but her son holds Dorne as its ruling prince."

And once more Seraena could not help but admire the Rhoynar- and the Dornish- for this. She had heard that muggles looked down upon the female gender. But not the Dornish.

"I believe your niece and nephew will be there for the wedding, Prince Lewyn," the queen said pleasantly. "It will be wonderful for them to join us."

"Yes, your grace." Prince Lewyn had a slight accent which Seraena thought sounded somewhat exotic and enticing. Yet he wore the very armour of a traditional western knight.

"My lady," Prince Rhaegar spoke. She turned her gaze away from the Dornish prince and towards Prince Rhaegar. "You have yet to see Dragonstone or Summerhall or even the rest of the city." His eyes were very deep and piercing. "Would it perhaps please you to accompany me on a tour of the city on the morrow?" He asked.

Seraena was stunned to say the least. Rhaegar did not seem like a besotted boy, yet she knew from her own experience in Beauxbatons, that no one was actually immune at first. Even if they did recover from her Veela charm.

"With Lord Jacaenor's agreement, of course." Rhaegar looked at him and Jacaenor knew that he could not refuse.

"Why ever not?" He asked. "I believe in any case, that I must send a message back to our family, informing them of the results of the negotiations. In addition to this, I must see the final preparations in regards to the dowry and the bride price as well as the traditional inheritance my sister is entitled to as a daughter of our house." He looked at her.

Rhaegar nodded in understanding, but Seraena was too surprised other than to nod her head. "Thank you, your grace." She managed. "That is very kind."

After a dessert of strawberries and peaches in cream, the queen bade them good night and Prince Rhaegar- as was protocol, kissed her hand. His lips seemed warm, even burning hot to the touch as they landed on the cool surface of her skin. His indigo eyes met hers and Seraena wondered what she was in for.

* * *

Seraena had placed countless wards around her quarters, Jacaenor's and their entourage. She remembered that servants would often be sent to summon her, and kingsguard knights, but she ensured that the spells only affected those with hostile intents.

She then went on to sleep but her dreams were turbulent; restless and disturbing, like a hurricane.

She dreamt of fire, dire rising to the sky, tongues of flame licking up to the moon.

She dreamt of ice, frosty blue hail and snow, so freezing and thick it blocked out the sky and buried the land under countless layers.

She dreamt of a man garbed in red and black armour, dark purple eyes sparkling. Rhaegar was smiling at her warmth radiating out from him. A blessed distraction and temperature from the ice and the fire.

She dreamt of his voice. "You know what guides us," and "The dragons has three heads."

Suddenly, a cloud of fire turned green, an impure, terrifying, poisonous green, every bit as dangerous as the Killing Curse, if not more so. The fires rose, threatening to engulf the castle.

She dreamt of three eggs, laid within three cradles.

She dreamt of the figure of a woman dressed in the finest silks and Myrish lace, a crown on her head, a dragon on her shoulder. It gave a cry, a shrill, screeching sound that echoed throughout the stone halls.

Then the fire was back; green and choking, and the ice, the ice which stung and stabbed worse than any Valyrian steel sword. It threatened to choke her, to weigh her down, to burn her and kill her all at once.

The fire on one side, the ice on the other, and the sound of voices like crackling ice amidst the shriek of the dragons in the distance. She knew they were coming closer. She just didn't know who would reach her first.

And she saw the Iron Throne, dark, sickening, menacing and threatening; uncontained, unlimited, mad power. The madness which threatened to spread. It towered above all and she struggled to escape its shadow. And within the towering, dark and grim monstrosity, a man was seated, wearing a heavy crown of red-gold with three dragon heads, their eyes gems. His hair and beard had grown long, scraggly and matted; his long, talon-like fingernails grasping the arms of the throne, blood seeping from his fingers and dripping onto the floor to mingle with the blood which had already pooled there. Blood, which she realised in horror, that flowed like a river into a sea or ocean full of blood… And an island of corpses and ash.

She was surrounded by them. And then the flames were back and the cracking ice and snow. She was surrounded with it, as she was surrounded by the piles of corpses. Corpses, which she saw in horror, which began to shudder and move, to pull themselves to their feet and reach out towards her.

The fire rose higher as did the ice and snow.

A fevered glint was spotted within the man's eyes- a horribly familiar, maniacal glint in his lilac eyes. "BURN THEM ALL!" He yelled as Seraena gasped, jolting herself awake.

She recognised that voice: it was Aerys.


	7. Chapter 7

**To my readers: Sorry for the long hiatus. If you've read my profile (and know how I stand on most of my fics), then you might probably be worried that this fic is about to be erased or redone. But I can put you at ease. This is one of the few fics which I do not intend to rewrite, abandon or erase entirely.**

 **But I did have a problem. Some of you did see that there has been some repetition in some parts. This is because previously I had been using a TERRIBLE keyboard. Imagine just typing away peacefully, then realising that the cursor- and therefore your own typing- is SEVERAL PARAGRAPHS ABOVE THE SENTENCE YOU WERE WORKING ON. And then trying to undo the damage- only to erase the whole damned thing. In the end I ended up going back to Microsoft Word and then copying and pasting- and it didn't go so well either.**

 **Because the reviews are coming in hot and fast (ha!), I'd like to say thank you to everyone that gave me their support. To those that I can, I'll PM personally to reply. To those that can't here's the update, sorry for the long wait.**

* * *

 **I know that one or two individuals have had complaints about Seraena/Gabrielle. Including iHateHotWeather123- to you and anyone else who may have your opinion, I say this: Criticism is great, but you have crossed the line. What you are doing is blatant abuse. But I also keep in mind that you don't know what it takes to write any kind of fic (since you haven't written one- I checked your profile), so I'll leave it at that. I am _trying_ to make this as _realistic_ as possible. The character right now is transitioning from being Gabrielle Delacour- a girl in twenty-first century magical France where men and women are equal, where no kid boy or girl is favoured more than the other, where she grew up in a loving home- to Seraena Veltaris who is about to enter an arranged marriage with a complete stranger, in a foreign court of muggles- who are _very_ xenophobic. You may criticise her for being underdeveloped- but in her previous life she was EIGHT when her sister entered the Triwizard Tournament. She had just turned ELEVEN- or was almost eleven when she went to Britain for her sister's wedding and the Second Wizarding War officially began. I'm assuming that she survived (otherwise Fleur would have been an absolute mess when the Harry saw her in Shell Cottage), and spent the rest of her time in France. **

**She went to Beauxbatons- _not_ Hogwarts- where I am assuming that she would have been the target of bullying and even abuse (possibly in a sexual nature- I mean I'm hearing news reports about girls wearing shorts under their skirts at school because boys have been harassing them- even in primary/elementary. Somehow, with all the problems of the wizarding world, Gabrielle might have suffered similar problems). She would have been an outcast simply because she was different- and because she was part-Veela and also because others were jealous of her looks. Some people respond to this like Fleur- Fleur decides to stand out as much as she could if she couldn't blend in and be part of the crowd. So she flaunts her beauty, but decides to give them another reason to talk about asides from her looks. Gabrielle reacted in an opposite manner- she withdrew and became a shy introvert, like many of us. **

**She can't just flaunt her skills, and everything about her. You're betting that she will never use a sword and never fall in love with Rhaegar. Well, SHE'S JUST MET HIM. She's in a court where she's foreign. Westerosi tended to be _very_ xenophobic. The last Lyseni to marry into the Targaryen family was Larra Rogare- the mother of Aegon the Unworthy, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and Queen Naerys. Larra spent her entire time in Westeros being shunned and mistrusted simply because she was a foreign woman. She tried to be a loving wife and mother, but she didn't know how to run a Westerosi household like they expected- and everyone gleefully picked out her faults. She didn't know how the Westerosi ladies presented themselves and they happily shunned her like she had greyscale and they were resentful that a foreign woman married into the royal family. In the end, she left because her life was in danger, and they tried to arrest her- she was under suspicion, simply because she was born foreign. And then came Lady Serala Darklyn- the wife of Lord Darklyn who may have been responsible for Aerys' descent into madness. They blamed her for that and for her husband's treason _BECAUSE SHE WAS FOREIGN._ She was Myrish. Mellario of Norvos- Prince Doran's wife- couldn't adapt and understand the Westerosi way- including why her son had to be fostered and her daughter sent away to be married off. She also left.**

 **Being born foreign is more than enough to put Seraena in the bad books of the Westerosi- especially the noble ladies like Cersei Lannister who are resentful that this Lyseni who came from a place famous for its courtesans and slaves- is marrying into the royal family- to _Prince Rhaegar Targaryen_ , the greatest catch in the Seven Kingdoms, or even the known world. She's also not a member of the Faith of the Seven and _that_ is also enough to put her in their bad books- and they have a lot of influence and dislike for non-believers. If she followed the Old gods, they'll be able to say at least that's Westerosi. But she's not. SHE CAN'T JUST FLAUNT HER SKILLS OR ENTER THE PLACE WITH A BANG- that would likely get her killed. And people already want her to be killed. Tywin Lannister would be very happy and so would Cersei.**

 **As for her falling in love with Rhaegar- I'm betting Ned and Catelyn's marriage also wasn't BAM- love at first sight. They grew on each other. Besides, Seraena's just arrived. AT THIS STAGE SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHO TO TRUST, or if Rhaegar would be a terrible husband or not. She doesn't know how he would react to her possessing magic- or coming from another world. Please remember she's just met him.**

 **As for her grieving for her family- if you lost your family in a permanent manner- like death- it would be hard for you for years. You might not like the way she compares her mother in this life to the mother in her previous life, but she's just trying- and she is trying- to adapt to the different worlds. Back in modern, magical France, her parents wouldn't give a damn if she was male or female, if she was pretty, smart and talented or not. They had no favourites. Lady Saera certainly had favourites. Aeramor because he was very Lyseni and good with business. Jacaenor was too Braavosi for her to understand, and Belaegor was just... weird. And the latter wasn't handsome either so that distressed her. Yes, it's a world where people tend to judge on looks more, and in Lys, their head for business. But Seraena can't shake off the feeling- even though she knows her mother's only trying to do what's best for her- that the reason she is loved by her mother, is because of what she can give the family- a place in history as the wife and mother of kings- and a name for unparalleled beauty.**

 **Just remember not only is this the beginning, but her character is developing- she's still very young- even combining the years from both lives. She was unconscious the whole time in the Black Lake when Harry rescued her. _Fleur_ had already developed, she had entered a highly dangerous tournament, survived, graduated, fought in a war, married, had children- Gabrielle had just begun. As for fighting with a sword- Harry only touched the Sword of Gryffindor once to kill a basilisk. Seraena did sneak away to find potion ingredients for healing and to explore, but she would have been seriously careful to confund everyone into believing that she was not missing and that nothing was going on- or she would have erased their memories.**

 **Seraena has to be even more cautious than the typical newcomer to the Red Keep. Especially when all eyes are on her. If anyone ever had a hint that she knew magic- that would be the death of her. This is a medieval society where faith was very important. It could mean the end- and as her character is still developing, she has to find out who she can trust and how to survive at the same time.**

* * *

New Friends, Old Ones, and New Territories

Queen Rhaella looked tired. Seraena could see the shadows under the queen's eyes.

They were walking, greeting each of the ladies who had arrived in court. Some of them had been pressed by their families to serve the soon-to-be crown princess or the queen as ladies-in-waiting in the hopes of gaining power, wealth and influence of their own. Most of them- or all- were resentful of being there, to serve a foreigner. Seraena knew they had been eagerly hoping to be chosen to marry Prince Rhaegar and be queen. And they hated the idea of serving a foreigner.

No doubt most of them would be trying to take advantage of her, Seraena remembered her days as Gabrielle in Beaxbatons. How some had shunned her outright, called her 'half-breed', and worse names. How they played cruel pranks, incinerating homework (landing her in trouble), destroyed her cauldron and other equipment, even landed her in the hospital wing, until the teachers including Madame Maxime (bless her), put a stop to it. They hated to have her sit near them, always mocked, scorned and insulted her, even if she asked politely. Some even pretended to be her friend simply to take advantage of her, trying to share some of the attention- or turning against her when some boys she didn't even like, gazed her way. Some stayed as far away as possible, not wanting to be compared to this radiant vision especially as a developing teenager.

 _It's no different,_ Seraena thought grimly. The only difference was now she was wiser, more experienced, not a naive eleven-year-old. She knew what to expect.

"And here," Queen Rhaella suddenly announced, "Lady Cersei Lannister. Lord Tywin's only daughter."

Seraena looked.

Ah, the Lannister girl. The daughter of the Hand of the King. She was beautiful, very young though, but she would no doubt count as one of the most beautiful women Seraena had ever seen once she was grown. Her skin was flawless and fair like cream, her features fine and sculptured, like a perfect porcelain doll. Her hair was spun gold and her eyes emeralds. Seraena remembered Harry's emerald eyes. Then she remembered Harry's Hogwarts' house had the colours of red and gold, and the emblem of a lion. Like this girl's family.

Very beautiful or not, she had looked haughty striding through the hall as if she owned the place. Seraena had seen her enter.

And then her world came to a crashing stop. A damned painful one.

Cersei Lannister screeched to a halt (in a metaphoric way), when she saw Seraena. It didn't take long for her to catch a glimpse.

It never did.

Her expression was downright hilarious- priceless. Cersei Lannister's face had totally transformed from porcelain doll and ice queen to… Well, _this._

Her jaw crashed- or smashed- to the ground. Seraena was certain that if she was carrying something, she would have dropped it. Her eyes nearly popped out, bugging like a frog's. She just stood there agape with shock, amazement and horror. Then, the Lannister girl's eyes filled with tears like a toddler whose hand had been caught in a door, like they couldn't believe the door had the nerve to hurt them like an enemy. At this Seraena had to bite her lip. She couldn't decide whether to howl with laughter or seriously pity the girl.

In all honesty, if she did laugh, who could blame her? Cersei Lannister reminded her all too much of the girls at Beauxbatons. She even ended up in the infirmary because of those jealous, arrogantly superior, spiteful, bullying bitches.

Then Cersei Lannister's face changed. It grew red with fury, almost as crimson as her dress. Her mouth firmed. Her fists balled.

Cersei's eyes had narrowed dangerously. Her eyes were emerald, like Harry's. Her house colours were also red and gold. She remembered that they had told her that their house colours in Hogwarts were red and gold- and their symbol was a lion.

But by the look and expression on her face, Cersei Lannister was nothing like Harry Potter. Harry would never dream of leaving an eight-year-old girl to die in a lake in winter. Cersei wouldn't have minded- perhaps she would even love it.

She could not contain the look of pure, unadulterated fury and pure loathing on her face.

Queen Rhaella noticed this and frowned (that girl really had trouble being subtle). "Lady Cersei, has your lord father spoken to you on whether you will be remaining after the celebrations?" She asked.

Cersei shook her head. "No, your grace." She answered, barely managing to drop her eyes before the queen. "I'm afraid I do not know."

Despite her disliking this girl, Seraena felt sorry for her. She knew ho different it was from twenty-first century France. Having your worth measured (and falling short on expectations) on beauty, wealth, breeding and fertility alone was terrible. Having your father push you around like a pawn for his own advantage without a care for your happiness was also bad. Believing that your worth depended on that itself was even worse, especially if you somehow (through no fault of your own), fall short of everyone's expectations.

Gabrielle or Seraena at least knew what it was like to be happy, loved and free. Cersei Lannister did not.

"Such a shame," the queen tutted and walked off.

Ouch. That _had_ to hurt.

"Watch out for that one," Rhaella warned her. "Cersei may be as beautiful as her mother, but Joanna had a sweeter soul if ever there was any. That girl has had it in her head, that I will not have a daughter-" a pained look crossed her features. "And that she was to be queen. Judging by her temperament and nature, not a good one."

"And now a Lyseni foreigner has stolen her prize." Seraena sighed. "I know how this works."

"Do you?" Rhaella surprised her by turning suddenly. "She is Lord Tywin's daughter. The second-most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. He runs everything. We would not have survived without him. Yet my husband has trampled on his- and the rest of the Lannisters' pride for years."

And this was not a family they could afford to insult. Seraena remembered from her lessons, that they were the wealthiest in Westeros.

"Do you think they will be trouble?" Seraena asked softly.

""Who knows?" Rhaella gave a delicate shrug. "We can only hope and pray, my dear. And not anger Lord Tywin further. He is not a man who forgets an insult."

 _He never smiles either, apparently._ But those words left an icy chill down Seraena's spine.

"And this is Lady Mina Tyrell." They stopped before a girl with soft cacades of curling brown hair tinged with red, skin as funblemished and fair as cream, a heart-shaped face, dainty features and doe eyes of soft brown tinged with apple-green.

She cast her lashes down and performed an exquisite curtsy. "Your grace, my lady, I am truly honoured to be here at court." She said sweetly.

"Lady Mina, the roses of Highgarden bloom with such exquisite beauty that it always gladdens us to see one of them." Rhaella said. "It is we who are honoured.

"That one," she said to Seraena as they walked away. "Is the daughter of Lord Luthor Tyrell. His eldest. Her mother Lady Olenna formerly of House Redwyne, is the one who rules Highgarden and the Reach in actuality. They call her the Queen of Thorns, because she is a formidable woman- and because of her way of speaking. She does not shy from the truth." Rhaella shook her head, a small smile spreading on her lips in amusement. "Lady Olenna is the most formidable woman I have ever encountered. Her husband and son are, by contrast, fumbling, but kindly oafs. I do not mean to insult Lord Luthor and Ser Mace, but I cannot deny those accusations. But beware. They may seem pleasant, gallant, handsome and sweet, but the Tyrells are an ambitious lot, just because they hide behind roses, does not mean they are not formidable and deadly. Nothing goes unchecked or unmissed by Lady Olenna. And you can be certain her daughter reports everything back to her. They also control the Reach."

"The most fertile part of Westeros, the bread basket of the Seven Kingdoms," Seraena murmured. The queen looked pleasantly surprised. "Yes. You are learning well."

Seraena nodded, grateful for this praise.

"Princess Elia Martell."

She blinked. A Dornish princess. Only the Dornish title their ruling family as princes and princesses. The young woman that came before them had a warm-tinted, sun-kissed complexion, sharply contoured features, slanted liquid-black eyes, and a lithe and slender frame. She was exquisitely beautiful, but in an exotic way.

"Princess Elia," and Seraena noted that Queen Rhaella had said her name more warmly than she had the previous ladies. "The sun shines in King's Landing at last." Elia performed a cursty. Seraena- despite her wariness and reservation- could not help but take an instant liking to this lady. Her smile was warm and genuine, sweet. But she did not seem like a naive fool, and in both lives Seraena/Gabrielle ad learnt the hard way, to separate charm and sincerity. While she could not be sure of Lady Mina, Princess Elia certainly seemed to pass the test.

"Your grace, it is wonderful to see you again," she said sincerely.

"How fares your princely brother?" The queen asked.

"Doran is well, as is the rest of our family. Dorne prospers with his guidance and with your blessing. We hope it is the same." Elia's surprisingly kind eyes turned towards Seraena. "My lady." She said it with more warmth than Seraena had ever experienced in a young girl.

"My lady welcome to Westeros," Princess Elia said to Seraena. "Belated as it is, and congratulations on your oncoming marriage." Seraena still couldn't sense any ulterior motives or secret malice. She could not help but smile.

"Thank you, Princess Elia, it is very kind of you." She said.

"She seems a sweet girl," Seraena remarked to Queen Rhaella.

"She is," the queen agreed. "Which is why I would have her as one of your ladies." Seraena nodded. She had no problem with that.

Seraena could not understand how everyone in Westeros coped with so many nobles. Nearly all of them were greedy, squabbling, meddlesome, and with a clear lack of interest in the common good- only in enriching their coffers and increasing their standing in the eyes of others.

But in hindsight, she realised they basically had no choice. Each of them had been taught and trained that the sun rose and set on their own house- and the king. And the only way to gain happiness or financial security wasn't working your heart out. It was marrying your way up, gaining alliances and so forth.

In a way she could understand why her mother in this life, Lady Saera, had seen fit to do so to her. She believed there was no greater act of love for her child, and for the rest of her brood. No matter how terribly she treated Belaegor, she was protective of her family's legacy.

It still galled and chafed her that her mother would choose favourites. Seraena did not know if it was common for mothers in this world or in the Middle Ages in her first world, to have favourites, but Lady Saera certainly did. She knew that mothers here favoured sons, craved and possibly loved them more than their daughters due to importance. But who knew?

Seraena swore that no matter what anyone said or required of her, she would love all her children equally and none less than the others. She'd spent so long grieving over the past, and although there would always be a part of her that grieved for all that she had lost, she considered herself fortunate. Who else could span entire worlds? Who else could be so loved and cherished as she was by her family in her first life, and by Jacaenor?

The doors opened. In came Rhaegar Targaryen, dressed in black and red- the Targaryen colours, with the red, three-headed dragon emblazoned on his doublet.

Yes, Seraena had to admit her future husband was very handsome. He certainly caused quite the stir.

She remembered being around the Hogwarts champions. Viktor Krum- fierce and fearless- who was also an international Quidditch Star- the handsome and highly skilled Cedric Diggory (before his tragic, _terrible_ end); Beautiful and incomparably lovely Fleur herself; and the famous, courageous and gallant Harry Potter- the Boy-Who-Lived.

The reactions around Rhaegar were very similar. Gabrielle had been only eight at the time of the Triwizard Tournament, but she remembered it clearly.

Prince Rhaegar was flanked by members of the Kingsguard- Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent, she remembered.

"Lady mother, my lady," he greeted each of them. Seraena's heart gave an involuntary skip (against her wishes and reasoning), when she noticed his dark indigo eyes were fixed solely on her.

The queen smiled mechanically. She seemed happy to see her son, yet the circles beneath her eyes were more pronounced.

"My son," she said warmly. "What brings you to our presence today?"

"With your permission- and the Lady Seraena's of course," Rhaegar began. "I would like to invite her on a tour of the city."

Seraena nearly jolted at that. Now that was surprising. She had voiced earlier that she would like to see more of the city. Now Rhaegar surprised her by this bold move.

Even as Gabrielle, no one had ever been so bold to her. No one had ever been brave enough to face Fleur (it made her wonder to this day, how in the world Bill and that Hogwarts boy she took to the Yule Ball managed to capture her attention).

"Well," Queen Rhaella looked to her.

"I would be honoured, your grace," she managed.

Seraena's soon-to-be husband bowed his head in acknowledgement. "The honour is mine, my lady," he answered.

"Well," Rhaella said as Rhaegar exited the great hall. The Lannister girl's eyes were filled with fury. "I believe things will get very interesting."

* * *

King's Landing wasn't so bad, Seraena reflected as she rode through the streets. The prince had asked if she required a litter. Seraena declined. It had been a long time since she last rode. She had no qualms about riding. Although with the stench...

In a moment of foresight, she had cast a charm which held the foul odours of the city at bay. Karina came (heavily veiled as she always did), along with her brother's YiTish captain of the guards, always on alert. Jacaenor had decided not to go.

The city itself was north of the Blackwater Rush, where Rhaegar had warned her not to venture (it appeared a great deal of people had met more than their fair share of accidents along the river), and held three great hills, named after the conqueror and his sister-wives. Aegon's Hill contained the Red Keep, in the south-east corner of the city, overlooking the waters of Blackwater Bay. Visenya's Hill was surmounted by the Great Sept of Baelor- the marble temple with its dome and seven graceful crystal spires. That was where they would be married, not three days hence.

As Rhaegar helped her dismount, Seraena cast her eyes upon the magnificent structure. Truly, it was not as big as the Red Temple in Volantis, but it was still quite imposing. The statue of Baelor the Blessed- a tall, thin man with a beatific, serene expression upon his features, stood to welcome pilgrims and worshipers alike.

The prince graciously led her up the steps and into the sept. It was seven-sided, like all the temples of their faith, and the entrance hall was a vast array of overhanging lamps. Seraena could not help but gasp. Rhaegar smiled at that. She had not been much impressed by the Red Keep- or the city's stench. But this... This was a marvel of art and architecture, of light and colour combined, holding globes of leaded, coloured glass containing many candles held within.

"Here," Rhaegar guided her, leading Seraena to a pair of double doors. They swung open, and inside... Inside was as magnificent and wondrous as she could have possibly imagined. The floors were made of marble, with seven aisles leading from various doors, which met beneath the dome of glass, gold and crystal. The dome itself shone, casting a rainbow array of light and colour, reflecting on the stone below. Great windows stood, made of stained glass, and seven altars set with candles. The statues were gigantic and imposing to say the least. Seraena felt small. Like a beetle in a giant's world.

"There." Rhaegar gestured. "The altars of the Father and the Mother. Where we would be married."

Seraena gazed at the gigantic gilded statues of the two deities, and remembered her childhood in France. The muggles built many cathedrals. She herself had never been indoctrinated into any particular religion, but the cathedrals were a familiar sight in her former life as Gabrielle Delacour.

"It's magnificent," she said truthfully.

Rhaenys' Hill on the other hand, held the dragonpit.

That was a former glory; a charred, crumbling ruin, with its dome collapsed. The Targaryen dragons that had been hatched and reared inside the dragonpit were not as large as the ones that had been hatched before it's rise. And Seraena could see why. She'd been close friends with Charlie Weasley in her previous life, and Charlie would have been beyond horrified and outraged to think of a dragon being treated in such a way- like the one kept in the bowels of Gringotts. Its remains were black and charred now, but even before its ruin and decay it must have been dark, dank, cold, and for dragons, immensely claustrophobic.

Seraena understood that there was no other way for muggles- in their eyes- to keep dragons without harming the entire city. But she was not happy, nonetheless, at what those poor creatures must have suffered whilst in the dragon pit. Charlie Weasley would have been beyond upset.

"What's that over there?" She asked, tearing her gaze- all too happily- away from the ruin to the west of Rhaenys' Hill. "That is Flea Bottom, my lady." It was Ser Barristan who answered. He exchanged nervous looks with the prince. "My lady, I do not mean to presume, but perhaps it is not best-"

Seraena raised her eyebrows at that. "I wish to see." She remarked simply. She looked at Rhaegar. "Please."

He stared at her for one good moment and nodded.

Flea Bottom was a maze of winding, twisted alleys and cross-streets, unpaved and caked with mud, dirt, dung, swill and other foul substances. The stench was even worse there, even with the charm Seraena cast around her, she could tell it was beyond foul. Not merely pigsties and stables, but unwashed brothels, sun-dried and rotten wine, and tanner sheds full or urine and rotting carcasses.

The people there looked positively wretched. They were thinner than normal, and like the ones by the quay, covered in filth, mud, possibly dung, as well as rags. Seraena stood there for a long moment, taking in the sights, before nodding to Rhaegar. She had no words to say, she didn't need to. They saw through her eyes, new to King's Landing and to Westeros.

But it was clear, that no one and nothing would stop her from this.

 _Is this my calling?_ She wondered to herself. _Is this my purpose here? Them?_

Or was it... Him? She cast her eyes towards the prince. Then a thought ocurred to her.

 _Or is it both?_

* * *

Seraena knew she could have had things a lot worse.

She could have been born in Flea Bottom after all, instead of Lys the Lovely which was, in some ways, very much like her native France as Gabrielle Delacour. She knew she could have married someone older, and reasonably foul in heart as well as body. Perhaps he would have been brainless as well.

But if she wanted to marry, she wanted it to be of love. The thought of arranged marriages had never ceased to upset her both as Gabrielle and as Seraena, in France and Lys. She had wanted a marriage like her parents' and Fleur's. It did not matter to either her parents, or sister and her husband what the other one looked like, how wealthy they were, and so forth. They genuinely loved and adored one another, and raised a happy home with their children. Sisters Gabrielle and Fleur might have been but very different.

Fleur had no doubt, faced the sort of treatment Gabrielle had had in Beauxbatons. But she had reacted in a very different way. Fleur had worn her eleganct grace like armour and her beauty wielded like a weapon. It was her way of protecting herself. It was only years later did she realise that her sister might have been more vulnerable and lonely than she dared to admit. But she had had enough of their treatment. Whilst Gabrielle retreated into herself and became a shy introvert, Fleur became outgoing, proud, even scornful and harsh at times, as a means of defence before others sought to judge her because of her looks- as a pretty-face and undeserving of all the blessings life gave her. It didn't help that other girls were naturally very defensive or sensitive over their looks, and insecure. But to Gabrielle or Seraena she was never anything but gentle, sweet and loving. She still felt pain when she thought of Fleur, her parents, nephew and nieces.

Seraena was aware that Rhaegar Targaryen was the kind of person most people would kill to be married to. Even Fleur- as critical as she could be- would not be able to find fault with him. But that was the image of the man. What Seraena wanted to know was if they could love and care for each other, and respect one another. If not, could they not be friends?

Fleur might have seemed the kind of woman that longed for luxuries, respect and more, but inside, Seraena knew her sister had been lonely and vulnerable for companionship, love and acceptance. She had found that with Bill Weasley, just as her mother Apolline had found it with Antoine Delacour. They did not need riches and luxury. Only love.

Would she find it with this man? She didn't know. Gabrielle or Seraena had stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago. But at least, Rhaegar seemed kind and trustworthy. Maybe she wasn't in love with him yet, but Rhaegar certainly did her a favour she was grateful for.

Her plan to go out and inspect the city had been intercepted- somehow. Seraena nearly narrowed her eyes at the suspicious occurrence. She should be more careful with her wards. Aerys had reacted almost violently, reports said. Seraena did not actually see him throw a fit, but the large contingent of armed guards said more than enough. At the same time, Aerys was also said to be reconsidering sending those guards to be around Seraena. He wanted to keep her a pure and untainted maid for his son. Of course Aerys was unaware that Seraena could certainly defend herself.

So faced with possible incarceration in the Maidenvault (she shuddered at that), Prince Rhaegar had gallantly offered to accompany and escort her on a tour of King's Landing- with his own guard. So long it was with her betrothed, Aerys did not seem to mind, but she noticed the guards were also watching them closely, as if to ensure that the prince would not try anything with her- prior to his wedding.

"Your grace, my lady," someone hurriedly came up to them, interrupting Seraena's musings. "More nobles have arrived."

Rhaegar frowned. "Already? The same time, Seraena wondered aloud, "So soon?"

She had not been there for long, and already the nobles were flocking to the Red Keep. Seraena knew that muggle means of communication in this world were very slow, ravens were the fastest, but surely...

 _Unless they had already sent the invitations beforehand..._

Rhaegar must have come to the same conclusion as he looked grim. "Very well. Who has arrived?"

"Lord Baratheon's children, Lord Arryn his heir and wards, the heir to the north Brandon Stark and his younger siblings, Lord Tully and his children, Prince Oberyn and Princess Elia-"

"I saw Princess Elia in the great hall before setting off with the lady," Rhaegar remarked wearily. "So more have come." The butler nodded. "The king requests your presence- yours, your grace, and the lady Seraena."

And of course, a request meant a command. They barely had time to change but in Seraena's case, all she had to do was wave her wand when no one was looking and she was refreshed. Of course the guards looked surprised that she had done so very quickly, but there was little time to comment.

In the great hall, Rhaegar moved aside to give her room. Seraena tried to ignore the reactions, the gasps, the gawping and staring. She thought she was used to them, but now, in such great scale, Seraena struggled not to feel self-conscious.

"There is Lord Arryn and his son and heir, Ser Cedric Arryn. His mother was the late Lady Rowena." Rhaegar explained.

Seraena gazed at them. Jon Arryn looked a strong and healthy man, though clearly no longer young. He had a shock of blond hair, sky blue eyes and an aquiline nose. His son was a tall and extremely handsome young man with darker hair, more caramel-coloured, though Seraena could easily see that the blond streaks that ran through them. His face was extremely chiselled and his eyes were also blue, like his father's. She frowned. She had seen him somewhere before. She had never met Ser Cedric Arryn, but as the heir to the Vale bowed before the throne, she was certain she had seen his handsome features somewhere... Somewhere...

Then Ser Cedric's blue eyes met hers, and for a moment, she could have sworn she saw some form of recognition- disbelief, or perhaps denial. As if he too, recongised her, or he thought he did, from something like a dream...

Or another lifetime. Seraena froze and she barely caught herself from gasping. She had seen that face before. The eyes had been grey and the hair was undisputedly dark then, and he had worn yellow and black instead of blue and cream, but she remembered the face of the Hogwarts Champion: Cedric Diggory.

* * *

 _"Are you alright?"_

 _Gabrielle gazed up at the face of the handsome young man, gazing kindly down at her with concern. She struggled not to blush._

 _"Oui- yes," she stumbled over the words, barely managing to catch her French in time before replacing it with English._

 _The Hogwarts student- bent down and helped her pick up the flowers. "Are these for someone special?" He asked, half-teasing._

 _Gabrielle flushed. "Pour- for my sister," she corrected, cursing her faulty English. Fleur and her parents had said that the wards of Hogwarts could mean that French and English words were understandable by others._

 _"Sister? Ah," he nodded in understanding. "You're Fleur's sister then." Gabrielle nodded. The resemblance between them could not be denied. "I see." He cast a glance over her shoulder. "Were those girls giving you a hard time?"_

 _Gabrielle looked down, humiliated. His grey eyes darkened. "Ignore them," he said darkly. "I'm going to have a word with them on how they treat guests." He assured her. "I'm a prefect- it means I'm in charge of some students," he explained, seeing her questioning look. "I'm so sorry you had to witness that."_

 _He stood, and offered his hand. Gabrielle took it, and he handed her the bouquet she had brought for Fleur. "Your sister's this way," he said. "Stay close now so you don't get lost."_

* * *

Yes, it was Cedric Diggory. She couldn't be certain, but she saw recognition in his now-blue eyes... As blue as her eyes were now purple. She was sure he remembered her. But surely... _It cannot be, could it?!_

"Ser Jacelyn Baratheon of Storm's End, his younger siblings Lord Robert and Lord Stannis Baratheon, son of Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana of House Baratheon and the Stormlands." Came the announcement In strode a confident young man, and Seraena's heart gave another uncomfortable jolt in her chest. At first she had thought that _Harry_ had landed himself in Westeros, but Harry never strode like that. Still, the young man had hair that was tousled and untidy, though it did not look half as bad on him, black as coal. He had the same thin face and jaw, and she noted that he had the same mouth and eyebrows, but his nose was longer, and somehow, his frame was also different- lean, yes, but muscular and not as thin as Harry had been. His eyes were also a nice hazel colour, the same shade as Lady Cassana Baratheon, and he had her slimmer bone structure, though Lord Steffon's build was present as well.

This was not Harry Potter, though he looked eerily similar. Too similar for comfort.

It was clear that Cedric Arryn also had the same thoughts as he watched Ser Jacelyn strode in front meeting his father along the way. They bowed to the king, though Ser Jacelyn's eyes cast this way and that, as if cocky and mischievous. He probably was, Seraena thought. To distract herself from the discomfort of seeing someone so like Harry and possibly Cedric Diggory reborn.

Ser Jacelyn's younger brother Robert was stockier and more muscular. He was built like a maiden's fantasy, with thick, curly and wild black hair and dusky blue eyes, more like Lord Steffon's. Their younger brother Stannis was leaner, like his mother, but like Ser Jacelyn, still muscular and strong. Still, the boy looked too cold and solemn by half, aloof as he bowed to the Targaryens.

"My lady, are you alright?" Rhaegar whispered. She cast her eyes at her fiancé. She smiled reassuringly as she saw his concern. What had she betrayed? "Perfectly fine, your grace." She managed. Rhaegar did not seem at all convinced, but he allowed it to slide, although the concern did not entirely dissipate Seraena could see.

"Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun and the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, his son Lord Edmure, his daughters, Ladies Catelyn, Lysa and Lilian Tully." The herald announced. They were red-haired and reminded her of the Weasleys. Was she destined to meet the reincarnations of the ones she had known in this life, or to see someone very similar?

The eldest of the Tully daughters looked beautiful, and by all standards, a well-bred, well-behaved young lady, someone any father would be proud of, Seraena thought. She had a fair skin, an oval face and eyes as blue as the rivers of her home. Her hair was a rich auburn, not as light as the Weasleys. The second daughter was slender, face shy like a rose that was yet to bloom, and just as pink. She looked nervous and shy as she approached and curtsied. The third daughter was breathtaking, truly lovely, however. The was the most lovely of the three, with thick, dark red hair that hung nearly to her waist, and the most beautiful and richly vibrant, _emerald-green eyes._

A chill swept through Seraena. _I have seen those eyes,_ she thought. _I've seen them before._

She could never forget. She could never forget Harry's eyes.

Lily and James Potter had been long-dead by the time she was born, but she had seen photographs in the Potters' house and knew Lily Potter from one of them. Her granddaughter, also named Lily, had had red hair, but only her grandson Albus had inherited the same eyes as Harry did. And everyone knew Harry received those eyes from his mother Lily.

Of course, she could never be sure. But this episode drew far too close for her own comfort.

Seraena longed to be excused, she longed to escape to the safety of her own chambers. But from her training she knew that she could not afford to offend anyone by disappearing abruptly, so she saw no choice but to stay.

But if Cedric Arryn was truly Cedric Diggory as she had been Gabrielle Delacour- should not Lily Potter's eyes have changed? If Jacelyn Baratheon was indeed Harry Potter-

 _No,_ she corrected herself. Not Harry. Never Harry. Seraena had not changed much from Gabrielle Delacour, in fact she still thought of herself as the same person. And if this was the case, even if the eyes had changed from green to hazel, Harry Potter had never seemed so mischievous nor did he ooze confidence, even as a profesional auror.

The heir to Storm's End may have looked like Harry Potter, but he was as different to Harry as night was to day.

So it must have been the product of her imagination surely?

But the sky-blue eyes of the Arryn heir informed her otherwise. Cedric Arryn looked as though he had seen a ghost.

* * *

After the highly uncomfortable meeting in the throne room, Seraena was all too happy to get away from this experience of déjà vu and escape to the palace gardens, which she had grown to love.

They were her refuge, her safety, just as the gardens at Beauxbatons had been.

She heard titters through the hedge.

"I tell you Ashara, it's not that amusing," Princess Elia's voice sounded. Seraena stiffened.

"But it is," she giggled. "You should have seen their faces! When they saw her-"

"Have pity on the poor lady, Ashara," Elia admonished. "You might enjoy the attention, but imagine being gawped at and drooled at, but for all the days of your life? No wonder she was happy to leave."

"Well, I suppose it would be awful," the girl- Ashara- admitted. "I heard the rumours down in Dorne... You can't imagine how excited your brother was when he heard. He's here soon," she warned her.

Elia actually groaned. "Don't remind me. Oberyn had better stay out of trouble, this is the royal family we're speaking of. Even Doran, patient as he is, won't tolerate this."

"Your brother isn't stupid, Elia," Ashara soothed her. "Just mischievous." She giggled.

They spoke and their voices drifted away, and Seraena found herself alone again.

Then she heard a twig snap. She whirled, hand on her wand, ready to whip it out, until she saw who it was. "Pardon me, my lady," Ser Cedric Arryn said cautiously.

Seraena forced a smile. "It's alright." She assured him.

The heir to the Eyrie and the Vale opened his mouth, and then closed it, unable to find anything to say. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

Seraena frowned. "Ser Cedric? Is something wrong?"

"No," he hastily corrected. "Forgive me, my lady, but you remind me of..."

Seraena froze and was very still. "Of?"

"No one," The Arryn heir shook his head. "Forgive me, I must have an overactive imagination."

Not when it comes to Veela charms, Seraena thought grimly. "A foreign flower, perhaps?" She asked quietly.

He blinked. Feeling bold, brave or foolish enough to confront him, Seraena took a few steps forward until she was looking at him straight in the face.

"Well," he stammered. "My lady, you are-"

"I don't mean me," Seraena said, refusing to take her eyes off him. "You seen this face before, haven't you? Except for the eyes. Blue eyes. Just as I once saw eyes that were grey, even for a short while."

Cedric Arryn drew a sharp breath. "Fleur." He said as if finally confirming something, a suspicion which he had had all along. "So you _are_ Fleur."

"No," Seraena answered. She took a step back. Her eyes were grim. "But you are Cedric Diggory."

Now it was his turn to freeze. Seraena could not fault him. It must have been a lifetime since he last heard that name out loud. "If you're not Fleur," he whispered, finally managing to find his voice. "But you know- _knew_ my name-"

"I'm Gabrielle," Seraena said. "Or I once was."

"Gabrielle- Gabrielle _Delacour?"_ Cedric breathed, as if unable to believe his own ears. "Fleur's little sister?"

"That's how I was usually described, yes," Now it was _Seraena's_ turn to be disturbed, to hear that name spoken out loud for the first time in this world. It was very disconcerting.

 _"H-how?"_ Cedric began weakly. "How did you _get_ here?"

"I might as well ask you the same thing," Gabrielle- no, she was _Seraena_ now, why did she forget? Spoke to him.

"The last I heard, you disappeared into the maze during the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament. The cup was a portkey. Voldemort killed you."

Cedric recoiled, possibly at the sound of the name. Gabrielle/Seraena had forgotten that in his time, people flinched at the mere sound of Voldemort's name. But he had also paled considerably. "It was _him?!"_ He asked hoarsely. "But he's-"

"He's dead now," She hastily assured him, feeling terrible for stirring up such traumatic memories. "The Second Wizarding War is over. We've won. Harry defeated Voldemort."

"H-Harry," Cedric said feebly. He sat down on the stone bench where Seraena had sat. He held his head in his hands. "What happened?"

Seraena hesitated. She didn't want to stir up bad memories, but it was her fault she could not keep it quiet and to herself. She owed him an explanation.

"I can only tell you what I've heard, what I've been told, I had yet to start school when the war ended." She warned him. "I was only in Britain for a short period of time."

"Please," Cedric pleaded, reaching out to her. "Tell me. My father, my mother..."

Seraena winced. "Your parents live." She said softly. She didn't know much about the Diggorys, but she had seen them at Cedric's memorial service. They were, understandably, a true mess. "Voldemort conducted a ritual in the graveyard. After he used Wormtail-"

"Wormtail?!"

Of course. Cedric had not been there for the full story. "Wormtail, otherwise known as Peter Pettigrew."

Cedric stared at her, his blue eyes in total shock. "Pettigrew's dead. Sirius Black killed him."

"No," Seraena hotly denied. "He was innocent. Sirius Black never even received a trial. He wasn't the Potters' Secret Keeper when they went into hiding in Godric's Hollow- that was Peter Pettigrew. Everyone knew that Sirius Black and James Potter were as brothers to one another. It would have been too obvious, so at the last minute, they changed Keepers, and Pettigrew became the sole custodian to Godric's Hollow."

Cedric abosrbed this in silence and shock. "He confronted them," Seraena continued. "Sirius Black confronted them. Pettigrew shouted for the street to hear that Black had betrayed Lily and James Potter and cut his own finger off, as well as apparently blowing himself to pieces. But he didn't. He escaped. He was an animagus. An unregistered animagus."

Cedric let out the breath he was holding. Seraena felt instant regret and guilt welling inside her. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"No, please, continue." Cedric looked up at her.

"Black was sentenced, as I've said, without a trial," she continued. "It was at the height of the First Wizarding War. Harry found out about the truth of everything. It was Pettigrew who found Voldemort and it was Pettigrew that killed you- with his wand."

Cedric was very quiet. No doubt imagining the last moments of his life again. The words: _'Kill the spare.'_ The incantation; _'Avada Kedavra,'_ the flash of green light before his life was wiped clean away. Had it hurt? She wondered? It had hurt when the stones collapsed onto her, although she had no time to register the pain and she had no doubt that was because she was crushed

"I'm so sorry." She whispered. "I'm so terribly sorry. I wished- I wished you never died. I'm sorry."

Cedric nodded and swallowed. "What happened to Harry?" He asked.

Seraena proceeded to tell him. She told him what she knew of the graveyard ritual, of Voldemort rising. His long hands gripped the seat of the bench until the knuckles turned white. She told him of the Death Eaters, of Harry being tortured and duelling him, seeing his face whiten with every word. Reluctance stalked her, but Cedric begged to learn more.

So she told him about the false Moody being Crouch's son, how he worked for Voldemort the whole time, and imperiused Krum, attacking Fleur. She spoke to him about the duel in the graveyard, the _Priori Incantatem-_ the Reverse Spell Effect, how Voldemort and Harry's wands had twin cores so they could not- would not- kill each other. She told him how an echo of all the victims killed by Voldemort's wand appeared and spoke to Harry. Including Cedric's apparent ghost. Seraena grimaced as she spoke to him about that. She told him how Cedric's echo and Harry's parents warned him not to let go yet and Cedric had asked that his body be returned to his parents. The 'ghosts' had lingered long enough for Harry to get to the portkey.

Seraena also told him about everyone's reaction to his death. The ministry's subsequent treatment and refusal to believe Harry and Dumbledore over what had happened. The DA. And the horcruxes. She told him about how Harry, Ron and Hermione left school in their seventh year to pursue horcruxes. Cedric had gone bone-white by the time she explained to him what horcruxes were.

She also informed him about Dumbledore and Snape. How they secretly planned Dumbledore's death between them- and the Deathly Hallows. It was understandable, that Cedric incredulously said that the Tale of the Three Brothers was a story told to amuse children, but Seraena had informed him otherwise. The story ended with the death of Voldemort, the Battle of Hogwarts and it was all over.

Seraena noted that his countenance and bearing were strong, yet his face seemed ashen as he absorbed the news. "Thank you," he whispered. "For- for telling me everything."

Seraena nodded and bit her lip, looking at the ground guiltily. She wished-

"I wish I had not been so young when it all began," she whispered. Seraena swallowed. "I wish I could have saved you. I wish I could have fought alongside the others. I'm sor-'

"Don't be," Cedric stood to his full height. "It's not your fault." His face softened. "I'm just glad you didn't die. At least not yet." He frowned. "If you don't my asking- how did you get here?"

"Bad luck and stupidity really," Seraena sighed. "I took a trip to Egypt with Fleur and her family and ended up in a cursed tomb with serpent-leopards. I was crushed by blocks of stone whilst trying to give them enough time to get themselves and the children out of there."

Cedric winced. "I'm sorry."

They stood there in awkward silence. "So... Everyone is alright?" He asked. "The last time I've seen, yes," she confessed. "No one's forgotten you Cedric. There were those that fought to rebuild the ruins of Magical Britain in your name- for the better."

Cedric nodded, accepting everything. "How did we get here?" He wondered out loud. "Reborn into another world, and another life..."

"I don't know," Seraena said glumly. "The first thing I recall when I came to be, after the pain and the darkness was light. I was in an infant's body, I was picked up as if I weighed nothing more than a loaf of bread." She sighed. "My new mother-" she swallowed. "Named me Seraena. I've heard or reincarnation, but I never dreamed- and I always thought one could never remember their past lives after they had been born into their new ones."

"Same," Cedric answered numbly. He sighed and looked down. "I remember it being very dark. And then when I awoke, I was in the body of a baby. Held in the arms of a woman who called herself my mother, though she was not the mother I remember."

They stood there in silence. Then Seraena glanced at the setting sun. "It's getting dark, we should be getting you back to the Keep," Cedric said. Seraena nodded gratefully, remembering the protocol of this world, which required her to take his arm.

* * *

Saddened and disturbed, Seraena was nonetheless relieved and happy that Cedric Arryn had been given the chance of a new life for his own. On the way to the Keep, they were intercepted by members of the kingsguard and Prince Rhaegar himself. The prince noted Cedric's ashen pallor and Seraena's look and asked what had happened.

"He has... Lost someone," Seraena invented. "Someone very dear to him- a friend. I informed him when we met in the gardens."

Rhaegar absorbed this, and nodded, offering Seraena his arm. The look in his indigo eyes when he had found Seraena and Ser Cedric... He had frozen as he saw them emerge and Seraena wondered if this had made a bad impression.

At the following feast, Cedric was seen talking to some other noble youths. He still looked pale, but somewhat better as he spoke to the ones beside him. "That's Lord Baratheon's son," Seraena frowned as she saw Robert Baratheon, second son of the Lord of Storm's End speaking to Lord Arryn and his heir.

Beside her, Rhaegar stiffened. "Yes. Robert Baratheon. He along with Eddard, second son of House Stark, are wards of Lord Arryn and have been fostered in the Eyrie."

"Wards..." Seraena said slowly. She did not remember this in any of her lessons on Westerosi culture.

Rhaegar smiled, nodding. "They were raised by Lord Arryn. Both Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark were sent by their respective fathers as a way of establishing friendship and alliances, and educating the children as they are reared away from home. Both of them have formed friendships with each other and with Ser Cedric-" for some reason, Seraena could have sworn she saw Rhaegar frown when he mentioned Cedric's name. "And thus, this bodes well for the future of their kingdoms, and for the realm." He frowned. "Although some may disagree."

Now it was Seraena's turn to frown. "What do you mean, your grace?"

"A strong alliance between Houses Arryn, Baratheon and Stark might be seen as a threat to some," Rhaegar confessed. And wearily, Seraena could see, and sadly begin to understand how this was true. If this was a strong alliance, then in times of conflict and even in peace, the scales would tip in their favour. She could see Aerys from a distance, squinting suspiciously at Lord Arryn, his son and wards.

"And Brandon Stark, heir to the North, is to be wed to Lady Catelyn Tully, the eldest daughter of Lord Hoster," Rhaegar continued. "The alliance grows."

Seraena had realised it. "We can only guess what this means for the rest of Westeros." Rhaegar nodded, smiling in respect to her judgement.

"Speaking of the Baratheons," Rhaegar said. He nodded in Lord Steffon's direction. The Lord of Storm's End was heading their way. "There he is.

"My lord," Rhaegar said out loud. Lord Steffon bowed. "Your grace, my lady."

"Lord Steffon," Seraena said graciously. "We've never had the chance to speak properly. Thank you for welcoming me to Westeros- and the Red Keep." Steffon chuckled. "And how is Lady Cassana?" She asked.

"She is well, my lady." He nodded. He looked to a nearby table where Lady Cassana sat with her third son, Stannis. Lord Robert was grinning at some passing lady and Ser Jacelyn was speaking to... Was that Lord Tully's youngest daughter? The one with Harry's eyes?

The one like Lily Evans Potter.

Come to think about it, Seraena thought uneasily as her gaze turned from Lady Lilian to Ser Jacelyn. He looked a little like Harry for her own comfort...

She noticed Cedric also eying him uneasily. This must have been the first time he had met or seen his friend's brother. And yes, he looked uncannily too much like Harry, although Lady Lilian had the eyes, like Harry's-

That was when it struck her. Ser Jacelyn's eyes were hazel. The photograph she had seen in the Potters' house... She had not know what colour James Potter's eyes were but the nose was the same length, and if Ser Jacelyn was speaking to Lady Lilian, the only one of the Tully daughters to have green eyes then this meant-

James Potter. He was Harry's father.

Just then, Lady Lilian Tully nudged Ser Jacelyn almost fearfully and both hazel and emerald eyes met her violet ones.


	8. Chapter 8

**To all my readers:**

 **I'm so sorry for the long wait. Not only did I get a new job, move to overseas, and (inevitably), get ill, I happen to have the most annoying trouble with my laptop. Once, I ended up deleting the original chapter, but I managed to recover it.**

 **Disclaimer: No, you don't need me to say it, you know I obviously don't own any of this.**

* * *

Lilian Tully was no ordinary maid.

That much had been clear to her before she had been born.

In fact, it was clear to her long before that.

In Britain, she had been Lily Evans, the only one in her immediate family with such red hair and green eyes. Her mother's hair was reddish-brown and her father's eyes were a paler green, tinged with brown, like hazel, but Lily had been born with the most vivid red hair and the most vibrant emerald eyes; more than that she had been the only one born with magic.

It was the same case here, only the rest of her family had auburn hair. But as Lilian Tully nobody could explain why she had emerald eyes instead of the usual blue. The only explanation was that either Lady Minisa Whent or Lord Hoster Tully had someone in their ancestry with green eyes. Possibly a Lannister.

Of course, they would have never dreamed of the real explanation. No known religion in Westeros (save maybe for the ones in Yi Ti), ever believed in reincarnation- the concept of having one's soul taken after death, not to an afterlife, but to be born again in another human's body. And even then, since when were those reincarnated supposed to remember their past lives so vividly?

Lily remembered very clearly when James had come running in the hallway, yelling for her to take Harry and run. She remembered the flash of green light, the terrible scream of grief and horror that ripped from her throat as her husband's body fell to the floor, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. She remembered rushing up the stairs, before remembering, foolishly, that she had left her wand in the living room, like her husband. Her desperation, heartbreak for her husband, and fear for her son were so acute at that point it was a miracle she was able to function properly. After all, Harry was the only thing she had left. Her mother and father were dead; her sister all but disowned her; she had never met her nephew and had far less love for her brother-in-law. Harry was the only person she had left, her flesh of her flesh, blood of her blood, as poets here would say. Her soul.

And the only thing she had left of her husband, now dead. Stifling her sobs, her fears, her anguish and panic, Lily had done everything she could to barricade Harry's nursery, but it was all in vain anyway.

She remembered pleading, _begging_ even, before her husband's soulless, heartless monstrosity of a killer, an abomination who warned her to stand aside- as if she would ever do such a thing anyway- stand aside as a mother leaving her son exposed and vulnerable!- and then it was over. A flash of green light and…

Pain. But not the kind of pain she was imagining. Was Harry alive? Was he harmed? Was he safe? Did it work? Where was he?

And where was James? If she had died…

Instead she found herself in the body of a newborn with a woman smiling down at her.

The first years were the hardest. Lily, or Lilian (though they still called her Lily for short), was still mourning her husband and her son, none of whom as far as she knew, were alive or existed in this strange new world. It was hard, impossible, it seemed to rouse her from her grief, and she mourned silently, worrying her father, mother and the maester Kym. She could hear her parents' hushed voices wondering fearfully if their third daughter had been born a simpleton. But as it turned out, quite the opposite, Lady Lilian was extremely bright and precocious, for her age, even by adult standards. After all, how many managed to teach themselves to read, highborn or low, young or old? Lord Hoster and Lady Minisa trilled with pride and thanked the Mother and the Crone for their daughter's blessings.

In the years that went by Lilian, as she was now known, grew up in Riverrun. It was a beautiful castle, though not the kind one would see in fairytales. It was a three-sided castle with walls built of sandstone, bordered by two rivers: the Tumblestone at the north and the Red Fork at the south. The western third side faced a large man-made ditch which, during times of danger, could be used as a moat when the sluice gates were opened; crenellations for archers at the tops of the walls; and a wheeltower turned by the Tumblestone. But the gardens of Riverrun were her absolute favourite; they were bright, warm and airy, with redwood and elm trees which allowed just enough cool breezes, sunlight and warmth to shine and waft into the gardens. Wildflowers grew there, making it a place where one could easily be at peace within a blend of both nature and artifice, birds nested within the trees and there were plenty of streams.

It was paradise. Lily had never been one for ostentatious grandeur, in her first life or the second. And although she grew to love Potter Manor (at least until it's destruction by Voldemort's hands, and they were forced to flee), she was more at home in the house at Godric's Hollow where Harry had been born. It was only that they were so confined. If it had been up to her, Harry would have grown up free, amidst nature, amidst… All of this.

But Harry was not here. And neither was James.

How does one reconcile all of this? Lily wondered bitterly. She thought that she would at least be reunited with James and her parents and his in the afterlife. Instead she saw reminders every day of the ever-increasing gap caused by their absence, and like salt in the wound, how much they would have loved to see many of things she saw. Like the gardens in Riverrun. Or something hilarious that would have made James roar with laughter and Sirius chuckle alongside him. How does one forget? Harry was only one year old. Even if he survived and the ritual worked (and the chances, Lily knew, were slim- better a small chance than no chance at all, she had decided), Harry was just over a year old. Would he remember her face, her smiles, the way she loved to hold him tight; to whisper and read stories in his nursery at night; how often she told him she loved him; and sang lullabies rocking him to sleep? Would he remember how much she laughed, delighted at his antics, the way James also did?

Sadly, painfully, she doubted it. But mothers did not forget, even if their souls were propelled into another life and world. Especially with all her memories. She would have been happy with James and Harry raising the baby somewhere like the gardens of Riverrun.

By the time she reached her second adolescence (maidenhood to the Westerosi), Lily despaired of ever seeing her husband and son again.

When her father contracted a betrothal between Brandon Stark and Lily's sister Catelyn, she was close to being openly frantic. Cat took it remarkably well for someone who was about to be sold off, but Lily supposed no one in Westeros knew anything different. This was what it meant to be a highborn, noble lady. Marriages were made for practicality, for reasons of business, survival of individuals or to seal political alliances. She and her sisters were pawns in the marriage game and the game of thrones. Her brother Edmure might have it easier, having more freedom, but even his bride would be chosen by their father.

At this point Lily was grateful to have been the youngest. But she wondered if Brandon Stark, hot-headed, ruggedly handsome and charming as he was, would be a good husband and ready to settle down the way Catelyn was. Lysa was thrilled and excited for their sister, by Lily frankly, could point out a thousand people more suited for her sister than Brandon Stark.

Of course, she didn't dare say this out loud.

Then again, it was possible that Stark would surprise her. After all, James did. The two of them had not always been inseparable. In fact, if some seer told Lily as a teenager that someday, she would marry James Potter she would have hexed them into next month, or worse. But James and she had proven to be soulmates, if her feelings for him carried onto the next life.

She didn't know what to do. Could she possibly marry another? It was bad enough being forced into a union with a stranger, a man she did not know or love, but to someone other than the husband she knew and loved from the inside out?

What about children? What about Harry?

Then news came of Prince Rhaegar's betrothal to a mysterious Lysene beauty, with a lineage stretching back to Old Valyria, the civilisation she had so studied to try to find some link to someone, anyone, like her in this hostile medieval world. This reignited the desire, even desperation, to find others like her. Lily, ashamed to admit it, even to herself, desperately wanted to find someone like her in this world.

And, above all, answers. She needed answers. She needed to find out what happened to James and Harry and all their friends.

So since hearing about the Valyrians, their dragons and more, she had researched them fanatically. Lily had been alarmed at being woken into a medieval world. After all, this was the most treacherous, most dangerous period to be a witch or a wizard. Many muggles hated and feared wizards and witches particularly in eras like these. And while Lily had known both muggles and pure-blood wizards who were above these bigoted archetypes, she could not expect anyone living in such an age, steeped in superstition, to know any better.

Now, Lord Hoster had gone with his three daughters to the capital, in the hopes of negotiating a suitable match for the remaining two (and their brother Edmure, young as he was).

It was there when her world shook and turned around completely, and she saw him again for the first time.

James.

This time, her heart leapt and it could be described, ironically, as love at first sight the way it never was in their previous lives. She would have recognised him anywhere. With his untidy black hair, hazel eyes and the Potter features which her son- _their_ son, Harry had inherited.

And James had recognised her too. She saw his lips move and whisper the word:

' _Lily?'_ hoarsely, hopefully, like there was nothing else to hope or live for, save only for a reunion with her and their son.

* * *

"Ah, Lord Brandon," her Father said smoothly, in his rich, strong voice (one of the few similarities he had with his brother Uncle Brynden). Brandon Stark turned and bowed formally. He was a tall, extremely well-built, ruggedly handsome man with dark hair and an imposing stature. Was that distaste, bother or anything similar which Lily detected in his storm-grey eyes?

"Lord Tully," he said in a deep, strong voice. Lily fought to hide her disdain. Well, she didn't want _her_ sister to be saddled with _this_ either!

"It is good to see you and you, my lady," the heir to Winterfell said nodding to Cat. Catelyn had curtsied appropriately, as did Lily and Lysa, but Lily could see the faint flush on her cheeks. Lysa fought to stifle her giggles. Lily's lip curled. Poor Cat had no idea of the kind of husband she would get- one who would treat her with disrespect and disdain. "I hope your journey was not too tiring and that you and your family are well?"

"Quite well," Lord Hoster said obliviously. "May I present my younger daughters, Lysa and Lilian." They curtsied, Lily's insides squirming as she faced the Stark heir.

"My ladies," Brandon said. "My lord," Lily said boldly. Her green eyes were none too friendly, that she was certain. They turned towards James.

"May I present my brother Eddard and Ser Jacelyn Baratheon, heir to Storm's End and his younger brother, Lord Robert."

Now her father's eyes lit up with keen interest. The heir to the Stormlands? The gods willing, what a fortunate day this must be. Lily's own heart pounded in excitement.

"Lord Tully," James- or rather, Ser Jacelyn bowed. Lily's heart continued beating frantically within her chest and she could see the cogs and gears of James' head turning. Normally, in her first life, she would have tried to discourage James, as futile as it was, from his scheme. Now she wanted him to succeed. "It is an honour to meet you, and your daughters."

If possible, Lord Hoster's eyes lit up further. "The honour is all ours. I met your father once, Ser Jacelyn, Lord Robert. He was- or rather, is a great man, and I see so much of it reflected in his sons." Now Lily fought not to roll her eyes, but she was obviously pleased at the outcome. "Hopefully, I shall become reaquainted with him during the celebrations."

"Thank you, my lord." The now-Ser Jacelyn Baratheon said wisely, like before he was obviously doing anything to get on her father's good side. James Potter was known for turning on the charm, and Jacelyn Baratheon was no different. "I am certain you will. And that he would feel the same way."

Meanwhile Lord Robert skulked behind him. He had made the formal bows, but his bloodshot eyes looked elsewhere. He was more muscular and stocky than his brother, and his eyes were blue. It looked as if he had a fun time last night, too fun forcurrent comfort.

"Our other younger brothers are also here, but unfortunately, they are occupied elsewhere, I hope you will forgive them," _Jacelyn_ said smoothly.

"Of course," Lord Hoster replied, well-pleased with the heir to Storm's End.

Just then more guests appeared. They were not yet in the throne room, but it was already becoming packed with more nobles than they could count. "I apologise, but are your respective fathers present at the moment?"

Brandon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "My father is at Winterfell, the situation with the Wildlings has rendered him unable to attend, but Lord Steffon was with the king, last I saw."

"Of course. We must greet and pay our respects. Come."

Lily and James cast each other one final look before pulling away. Jacelyn's hazel eyes, the same as it had been in his first life, were so frantic, desperate, so eager to run to her and never let her go, and Lily felt herself tremble inwardly, knowing her eyes said the same.

But of course, unlike poems and love songs, while it may not be so hard to achieve, the results would prove far more complex than either of them thought.

* * *

"You _what?"_ His best friend sounded shocked.

"It was Lily. I'm sure it was Lily."

"You're sure?"

"I'm _certain."_

Grey eyes stared in uncomprehending disbelief at James, or Jacelyn. Rodrik Stark, once known as Sirius Black looked as if he did not know how to react to the news.

The two were sitting in one of Jacelyn's rooms in the Red Keep- with a silencing charm to ensure privacy, among other spells.

Once, Sirius would have jumped and laughed with joy. Now things were different.

The third son of the Starks of Winterfell may have been seen by many bigoted (note, _conservative),_ noble pure-blood families as a fall from grace for someone who had previously been born as the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. But Sirius had lived through that, suffered the worse, lost his closest friends, endured Azkaban and the estrangement, coldness and subsequent loss of his family (and his own murder by his cousin), so therefore, life was far from bad.

Be as it may, he was overjoyed to find James Potter, now Jacelyn Baratheon, the brother he had in his first life, in this new world. Even if James was now a powerful lord's heir, he certainly deserved it. Far more than Sirius ever could tolerate or enjoy.

But Lily and Harry had been a wound in their hearts that had never healed. Sirius- well, Rodrik now, had explained to Jacelyn what had happened to Lily and Harry. And although he had been crushed to hear what had happened, it was certainly a triumph, a joy and a relief to know that Harry was alive and well- at least as far as they knew.

And now Lily was here. Sirius had learnt that rashness was no longer a good thing. He had what his father called 'Wolf's Blood' (Merlin, that made him think painfully of Remus when he said that!), and that meant he was hot-blooded, often hot-tempered too.

But Rodrik, as compared to his eldest brother Brandon and his younger sister Lyanna, was mild in comparison. Ned didn't count as he was different in temperament. So therefore, Rick as he was playfully known, found it too good to be true if Lily was in Westeros.

What about Harry? His heart clenched in fear. Surely he wasn't in Westeros as well? That would have meant that he died. Rodrik was close to panicking. Unfortunately for him, Jacelyn also heard and started to panic as well. But surely- would they be able to find out?

Jacelyn and Rodrik had met when they had gone to the Eyrie to visit both their brothers Robert and Eddard or Ned, who lived under the tutelage of Lord Arryn and his heir Ser Cedric (not that they had ever met him, he was off doing his father's business apparently, maybe even too high and honourable to meet the first and third sons of Winterfell and Storm's End, Rick had joked). But both had, in the eyes of the others, struck up a close friendship, much like their brothers.

And now both were in King's Landing for the wedding of the king's eldest son and heir to some beauty from Lys, reportedly fairer than Shiera Seastar. Rodrik snorted. Poets were such idiots sometimes. Although to be fair, they had never actually gone so far as to call someone that until now.

Still, Rodrik was more interested in what James- er, _Jacelyn-_ had to say about Lily being here.

"So Lilian Tully third daughter of Lord Hoster Tully," he mused aloud. He cast a glance at his friend. "You're thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yup," Jacelyn smiled. And it seemed as if the Marauders were back. It had been heart-rending, crushing even, to tell James what had happened with Peter but he owed James, no, Jacelyn or Jace now, the truth.

Rodrik forced himself to give his old grin, before he turned around. It looked as if he'd never left.

* * *

Seraena took a sip of her wine. The amethyst on her ring pulsed ever so faintly, just before, to ensure that there was no poison. Muggles would not have been able to detect it whatsoever. She needed to be sure.

The good news was she was becoming more and more acquainted with Rhaegar. She found herself unexpectedly enjoying his company and the festivities. Before she had been far too tense and far too uneasy to relax, but Rhaegar made her barriers loosen and his conversation was clever as well as genuinely, well, given her history as Gabrielle and Seraena, she didn't like the word charming, but in this case it was the truth and the exception.

She felt safe, almost as if she had forgotten about any threats.

Jacaenor had retired early although some of his guards remained, with strict instructions to watch out for any threats to her person. At times like these, Seraena could not be more thankful or feel more blessed for her brother.

Rhaegar had asked her about her father's ships, the fleet which he had built. She had responded with what she knew about them. Deep down, both as Gabrielle and as Seraena, she had always been a dreamer. Ships were symbolic of the journeys that lay ahead, the adventure. And Seraena loved them. She loved seeing them take shape, the carving, the hoisting of the sails. The fleet was incredible. They had loaned ships to the Second Sons, the Braavosi at times, even (though why she could not imagine, it was not as if the Braavosi had any need of ships). Her eyes sparkled as she spoke about the volumes of text she had gained, and the artefacts from the travels. Rhaegar had eagerly inquired about them. It was clear that the two had a love of learning and never thought that they would share anything of the like with anyone. Seraena could not tell him of what she had learned from her own travels via magic, but she did say that she translated numerous things from various languages. And that she had learnt YiTish and Lengish, in addition to the Bastard Valyrian and High Valyrian that were her native tongues.

She didn't see Queen Rhaella smile softly at the exchange her son and his betrothed were having. But as Rhaegar reached over to offer her a plate of honey cakes, many others did.

The food was rich. It was rich, but somewhat heavier than what she was used to in Lys and France. Pheasant in a wine sauce, grilled with pepper spices and onions; beef roasted with salt and rosemary; swan with oysters; boiled lobster with lemon and butter and salmon; lamprey pie shaped like a ship. And for dessert: lemon cakes, honey cakes and sweet light mead to wash it down.

Seraena knew she had to tell Rhaegar the truth. She needed to. Else he would find out and not from her. And that would not be a good thing. As her family warned, there would be plenty of people who would wish for her to fall. She needed to win friends and allies. Fast.

Especially since she was a witch. Speaking of which, Seraena involuntarily cast her eyes around. It looked as though everybody was having a good time. The dancing had begun and the music was lively. Seraena spotted Lysa Tully dancing with… Well, a son of a minor house with green apples. She frowned inwardly. She needed to look onto the minor houses again. Seraena had memorised all the great houses, but the minor ones gave her trouble.

There were just too many of them. And Westeros was far bigger than Lys.

Cersei Lannister was drinking and glaring at her from above her cup. An unladylike flush tinged her creamy cheeks, but beside her, her twin brother Jaime (Rhaegar had pointed him out), was engrossed in a conversation with one of her brother's Braavosi guards. Cersei looked as if she were the only one not enjoying herself.

There was a dark-haired, violet-eyed lady whose beauty caught her surprise as she had not known someone so lovely. The lady was Ashara Dayne of Starfall, she had learned, sister to Ser Arthur. She and Princess Elia Martell were evidently close, and she must have been the one whispering with the Dornish princess in the gardens. Brandon Stark's other younger brother was asking Mina Tyrell for a dance. And Lady Lilian Tully was dancing with the Baratheon heir…

Her eyes snapped over to the couple.

James Potter and Lily Evans Potter. Her unease grew. Could it be? Who else was there with her in Westeros?

She had just seen Cedric Diggory. Well, the tragedy of Cedric Diggory was that he was one of them bravest, most brilliant students ever to have lived. He had the most potential out of so many. Certainly he was worthy enough to be chosen by the Goblet of Fire. And then his life was cut short and people could merely wonder what could have been.

At least now he was living the life and had the capacity to fulfil the potential he could not in his first life, Seraena thought. She was glad and she knew Harry would be glad as well.

Speaking of magic-users. She knew she needed to tell Rhaegar. Her excuse was the same reason as to why muggle-borns exist: magic goes dormant and sleeps for several generations until, unexpectedly, it is awoken.

She took a deep breath. And if Rhaegar reacted badly, Seraena would simply have to wipe his memory clean. It didn't sit well with Seraena but for the sake of others, not merely her own safety, she would have to do it. She felt her fingers twitch towards her wand in its hidden place…

She would also need to speak with Ser Cedric Arryn about the two…

"My lady? Seraena?" Rhaegar's concerned voice nearly startled her. "Is something wrong?"

It was now or never. "Actually, I, err, wanted to speak to you," she told him, meeting the indigo eyes of the prince. "In private." Her eyes gave a warning.

Rhaegar looked silently at her and nodded.

Her insides squirmed, and she remembered her explanation. Of course, she would never tell him about her previous life, but she needed to tell him the truth, before she made it worse by being dishonest.

It was now or never. But what if she risked more than her life?

* * *

Seraena went to the gardens of the Red Keep. It was dark, and it was likely dangerous, but there were torches and she shielded herself with magic.

Rhaegar found her. Seraena had hastily erected wards to ensure that only Rhaegar saw or heard her or anything which was happening where they were, within a maze.

"Seraena," she almost started when she saw Rhaegar enter the maze. His eyes were purposeful and concerned. He still wore the black clothing emblazoned with the red Targaryen dragon in front.

She stood immediately. "There is something I must tell you. And it would be better if you heard the truth from me then for me to keep it a secret for the rest of our lives. In fact, you may decide whether or not you would wish to proceed with this marriage once you know." She paused. "I ask that you listen to everything I say, before you make your judgement."

Prince Rhaegar looked somewhat alarmed. "What could possibly be so bad as to merit judgment?"

Seraena gave a slight smile. "Not bad, truly. I also ask that you keep an open mind and remember our history- the history of Old Valyria."

His curiosity piqued, Rhaegar moved forwards. Within the light of the torches, his hair shone and gleamed like molten silver in the light. His eyes seemed less dark and the purple more evident as she remembered who he was; a scion of the dragon-riders of old, like her.

"Rhaegar, what do you know of magic?"

Rhaegar blinked. It was clear that he was not expecting this question.

"Magic is…" He hesitated, uncertain of what to say. "A force. A powerful force that once ruled over men's lives. It is little known, and few have ever understood it. The septons do not like it-" Seraena winced. She knew it.

"My lady?" Rhaegar frowned seeing her look.

"Rhaegar, I want to know, what do _you_ think of magic?" She asked. Her violet eyes met his, pleading, almost.

"I can never understand it," he admitted. "Only that it is powerful and a force to be reckoned with. And that no one has caught a sure glimpse of it in hundreds of years. There are only rumours and speculations that run rampant. Most agree that while magic may have been a powerful force in the ancient world, such as with Old Valyria." Rhaegar shrugged.

"What remains of magic is mostly gone." He admitted. "At least that was what I have deduced. Once there were the Children of the Forest, the Others and more. Brandon the Builder built the Wall in the North. Magic was strongest then. What remains is the lingering smoke once the fire has gone out. They say Valyria was the last ember. But Valyria has fallen."

Silence fell upon them. Seraena took a breath. "Well, you know something about it. But I want to ask, what do _you_ personally think about magic? What if someone were to tell you that magic is returning?"

Rhaegar sighed. He sat on the bench beside her. "'Tis but a dream, my lady, until the time comes for it to return." His indigo eyes looked mournful.

It registered to Seraena that her future husband seemed sad, for some reason. In fact, he always seemed sad. Why, and what for, she didn't know. It struck her- again- just how little she knew of him. And yet she was marrying him. Her insides squirmed uncomfortably, but she reminded herself who she was, and Rhaegar seemed gentle.

So instead, she asked, "What do you mean?"

"I once read something," he began. "As a young boy. An Ancient Valyrian text, which contained a prophecy."

Now Seraena's senses were on sharp alert. "It spoke of a Prince that was Promised," Rhaegar intoned wistfully indigo eyes misted as he pondered what this meant. "Someone, a warrior, who meant to righten all wrongs and save all peoples from evil. It sounded like folly, I know. And perhaps I am mad to believe it, but if you had read the words, as if ancient voices were whispering at you from the texts, you would not think it mad either."

Seraena was silent. Prophecies. She knew to be wary of them. Voldemort had heard part of a prophecy relayed to him and set out to end a perceived threat- unknowing that because of his actions, that threat had indeed came into place. Prophecies were not simply mysterious and troublesome. Often it seemed as if they were meant to trick the listener, compel him into doing something which ultimately caused the prophecy to be fulfilled. Or they may indeed happen, but it would not have the outcome the listener would have wished or assumed would happen. It didn't take a genius witch to know that prophecies usually ended in a mess.

"It compelled me," Rhaegar said silently. "It compelled me to be a warrior. It was the reason my parents were married after all."

Seraena's eyebrows shot up. "Your parents?"

"My great-uncle," Rhaegar said. "Renounced his claim to the throne because he fell in love with Jenny of Oldstones. A peasant woman who befriended a woods witch." Seeing her confused look, he elaborated: "A woman for the smallfolk, one who specialises in healing herbs and potions, and midwifery. Some even claim to have magical powers and to see the future."

Seraena was stunned. "And your parents… Wed because of this so-called woods witch?" She was disgusted, and disturbed. A muggle charlatan, most likely, pretending to have magic and forcing incest.

Rhaegar nodded. "They informed my grandfather that the Prince that was Promised would be born of Aerys and Rhaella's line. And so they were married."

Clearly it was a bad case of judgement, Seraena thought sourly. She wondered if these so-called woods witches- most likely all charlatans and liars- had the tiniest drop of judgement within them. Aerys and Rhaella it seemed had little love for one another. Their marriage produced one son, a series of stillbirths, miscarriages and sickly babes, before Prince Viserys was born. If Rhaegar had observed his parents' marriage it may also lower his opinion on witches and magic.

Then again, on the one hand, he did believe in this prophecy and was not adverse to it... On the other hand, could she really trust him even if he did accept magic and her abilities? Would he try to use them?

"Rhaegar," Seraena said softly. "Our ancestors had magic. They were dragon-riders, Valyrians. Not everyone had the ability, but those who did were born with it in their blood, which they then passed down onto their children. And yes, that included the Targaryens of old, as well as my kin. Do you really believe that any ordinary person with no magical abilities, whatsoever, could tame and ride a dragon?"

Rhaegar stared at her. "No."

"No. Otherwise, the Ghiscari could do it. The Andals and the First Men as well. Even the Dothraki, but not everyone in Valyria was a dragon rider. Magic," Seraena hesitated. "Is carried in the blood. You are either born with the ability to use magic, or you are not. But magic doesn't go away. Sometimes, it sleeps. It sleeps for a long while, generations even, and then sometime, in the future, many generations later, it awakens."

Rhaegar stared. Before he could say anything, Seraena opened her hand. Tiny flames danced and flickered in the middle of her palm. They glowed with a warm light and danced joyously like the dancers still inside.

Rhaegar's eyes were massive now. He looked as if he dared not breathe or hope inhaling sharply. "Magic?" He asked finally, hoarsely.

"Yes," Seraena said softly. "I was born with magic. My ancestors were dragon-riders, flame-keepers and more, but then the magic disappeared, or so it seemed. Unbeknownst to us, it merely slept. And then I was born and it not only stirred, it awakened."

He was in disbelief, she could see. But then understanding dawned on him. "And I?" He asked breathlessly. "Do I- do I have magic?"

Seraena hesitated. "Have things ever happened around you that you couldn't explain? Something when you were feeling angry, upset, threatened or afraid?"

Rhaegar looked thoughtful and frowned. "No. Otherwise …" he cut that train of thought.

Otherwise Aerys would have never harmed his mother. Or threatened her. Otherwise, many things that Aerys had begun to do would never have happened.

Seraena on the other hand had expected this answer. She, unlike Cedric, had lived long enough to have been there when discoveries were made about how two non-magical parents could produce a magical child and how magical parents could produce a squib. She had studied the new innovations (which now caused the more prejudiced pure-bloods to seek unrelated spouses overseas), and so forth. Rhaegar had been born of incest. It was sad, but it was true. His parents and grandparents were brother and sister. And although he appeared perfectly fine and healthy, Seraena wondered if he would succumb to something. Aerys certainly showed the signs. She had heard he had been perfectly normal before Duskendale, but it could be a combination of factors. Rhaegar's siblings, apart from Viserys, were either born dead or died in the cradle. Rhaella had had trouble conceiving and carrying a child to full term. The lack of variety in the gene pool caused it to become murky and shallow. She was surprised at the lack of physical defects, but she could not guarantee (without a proper medical examination), that Rhaegar was completely unlikely to be more vulnerable to diseases and such. Or that he would not become insane, the way his father was rumoured to be.

Rhaegar, for his part, had frozen as a thought occurred to him. "Will our children have magic too?"

Seraena hesitated. "Yes, that is highly likely that they will. After all, there is also magic in your blood and therefore, with my blood involved, they will not only awaken, but certainly be replenished." She winced. "I am a healer Rhaegar. I know many things, and I confess I have discovered a number of things as well."

"What things?" He found himself asking. Seraena winced again. "I would much rather explain in detail about this later. But basically there are different kinds of individuals with magic. Some are seers- these have the ability to See the future, as you know. Animagi are those who can transform at will into a certain kind of animal- I am not one of those. There are metamormagi. A metamorphmagus is rarer than nearly all others. They, quite notably have the natural ability to change their hair and eye colour along with other features. In fact there are many others. A metamorphmagus will have to have been born with the ability as do seers. But an animagus learns to become one." Seraena hesitated. "I was the only one in my generation- in many generations to have been born with magic at all."

"Your brothers," Rhaegar began. "Do not possess this ability?" Seraena shook her head. "No. While it may be likely that some of our children will have their magic awakened, it may be that not all of them will have it. It may require a few or several more generations to stir, but who knows?" She sighed.

Her betrothed simply sat there absorbing all this in silence. Seraena bit her lip. "Are you angry?" She asked quietly, uncertainly.

Rhaegar's indigo eyes stared at her. "Why would I be angry?"

"For keeping this until now. It's just…" She struggled with the words. "I heard that Westerosi in general do not approve of magic. Well, at least your priests and the most devout. But I presumed that this was because, like so many others, they-"

"Do not understand." Rhaegar finished. "They do not understand you." He murmured quietly. His indigo eyes fell into sorrow and melancholy, and suddenly Seraena could easily imagine him as a lonely and isolated child with few who talked to him, few who understood and liked him for who he truly was without the crown, who gave no pressure on him to be or to give more than he already had. But Rhaegar knew.

She felt pained. And sympathetic. With her own years in Beauxbatons and her early years in Lys, she could understand.

Seraena took a deep breath. "There is a difference between magic naturally acquired through lineage, and trained accordingly, and that which is known as the dark arts- the evil, twisted kind of magic done by those who wish to inflict harm or gain power."

"Blood Magic, I heard it's called," Rhaegar said. He still sounded stunned.

"Yes. That, in actuality, be a certain category of the dark arts," Seraena explained. "The worst kind. I have never been to Asshai," she confessed. She had heard enough to know that rumours or otherwise, it would attract trouble for someone like her. "But I have been to other places."

"Such as?" Rhaegar asked. "Yi Ti. Leng. The Dothraki Sea. The other Free Cities, Slaver's Bay, Qarth, and more." She tried not to wince remembering her and Karina's misadventure in Qarth. They had nearly been discovered. "My handmaiden, Karina, was born in Leng.

"I went there," Seraena said wistfully. "By magic. I made everyone think that I was merely in my chambers, studying, beautifying myself, and so forth. I made them think that they had seen me beforehand and thus did not believe that anything was out of place. But I have travelled within seconds, minutes or hours what would have taken days, weeks, months or even years of travel and countless dangers." She paused. "I always took Karina with me."

"Your handmaid?" Rhaegar asked. "She knew?"

Seraena nodded. "I set her free before we reached Westeros- her and the others. But they chose to stay. They know I am a witch- and yes, Rhaegar, that is the proper word for it. Witches and wizards, though nothing like what you imagined."

Rhaegar shook his head. "No." He then looked thoughtful. "Supposing… I heard that Shiera Seastar was of your blood."

Seraena looked surprised. "Shiera Seastar? Wait, her mother Serenei of Lys, was an impoverished member of one of House Veltaris cadet branches. I do not know if either of them had magic, though." She frowned. "It may be possible that Shiera was born with magic due to her parents had latent powers they were not aware of or used."

Rhaegar nodded mutely. "Do you believe… Bloodraven?" He wondered.

Seraena decided she was really going to re-read all the small details on Westerosi history when she could. "Perhaps." She hesitated. But it was now or never. "Rhaegar… Your family is not the only line of Valyrian blood that sought to preserve itself. The ancients married brother to sister in an attempt to keep the bloodlines pure, but…" She paused again. "It did not do that." She said quietly. "I am sorry Rhaegar. The ancients did not know this, but magic evolves, even when it is a shadow or the wisp of smoke from a dead ember. The ancients- and even most people today believe in the term 'blood' when talking about family lines. So did I, because I am certain it is the only term that you have been taught all your life. But it is a very broad concept. Our ancestors and even people today had no sense of it. And even if you use the term 'blood' I cannot deny what I have discovered." Now that was definitely a lie. She did not discover it, but who else then? "In order to keep the lines strong and healthy blood must be refreshed. I wish I could put this to you gently, but…" She paused. There was no delicate way to say this. "The ancients were wrong," she finally admitted.

"Marrying one's family member, even a first cousin or second, especially over generations-" She winced. "Does not benefit the family lines. In fact," she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Rhaegar. Truly, I am. But it does the opposite. You were born fortunate, and we can thank the heavens for that. But the rest of your siblings?"

Rhaegar drew a sharp breath. His siblings, save for Viserys were stillborn, miscarried before birth or died young. They were born of a brother and his sister. His father…

His father. Aerys was rumoured to be succumbing to the madness which befell many of his predecessors. Oh gods, how far did it go? Rhaegar thought with a sickening feeling. Rhaenyra Targaryen birthed a deformed daughter, sired by her uncle. Her half-brother Aegon the Second had had a dim-wit for a daughter. Aegon the Conqueror married his sisters. One birthed a weakling and a soft-headed fool and the other a monster and a madman. Even Jahaerys the Conciliator and Good Queen Alysanne had Gael, the princess who was sweet, but simple. Madmen, simpletons, monsters and great kings; House Targaryen had spawned them all.

 _Every time a new Targaryen is born,_ his grandfather once said. _The gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land._

And now he knew why. The part of Rhaegar that took pride in his blood and family screamed at him in denial. But deep down, every other part of him knew that Seraena spoke the truth.

For all he knew, he could be afflicted. But no more, Rhaegar thought, shakily. No more madness.

Seraena still looked uncertain, but as Rhaegar glanced at her, he knew everything she had told him, was no lie. He had grown used to the lies and half-truths of courtiers, nobles, and his family alike. But Seraena had given him more honesty than all the others. Not even Arthur, his closest and truest friend, had done so.

Rhaegar swallowed. He looked deep into her violet ones. "Thank you." He managed hoarsely. "Thank you… For telling me the truth."

Seraena accepted his thanks, her silver head dipping in the dim light.

"And no," he stated, helping her as they stood. "I am not angry. In fact, I see things clearer than I have ever done before."

* * *

In another part of the gardens, Ser Arthur Dayne frowned. His royal charge and closest friend was taking far too long.

A scuffling brought him to his senses, as he saw at the other end of a hedge the mumblings and murmurs of a drunken man. Purposefully striding forwards, he saw a nobleman, sodden with drink by the looks of him, accosting a young woman. Her face was veiled and her dress was foreign. She stood as tall as he and Rhaegar, which itself was a marvel, taller than most men, with a slender, light and graceful figure the beautiful glow of her golden-tinted skin, showed tantalizingly, through the yellow silks, a mesmerising hint to most men.

By the looks of it Arthur deduced that this was Lady Seraena's handmaid, though she did not wear the collars that he heard all slaves in Essos wore. And she wore silks, embroidered with a subtle detail in gold, most likely a gift from her mistress. He remembered that her face was always veiled.

The fat nobleman, Lord Rosby, had placed his wine-flushed, hazed face close to the maid's form. His paw gripped her slender arm, and she was as taut as a bow-string. Arthur decided to intervene.

"My lord," his voice rang through even Rosby's wine-laden senses.

"Eh?" The nobleman spun around. "You are needed at the feast," Arthur informed him curtly.

"Hm. I was just escorting this, lovely young maid to her chambers," the lord slurred.

Arthur's hand was already on Dawn's hilt and he moved forward slightly to make it known. "That may be," he said icily. "But the chambers of Lady Seraena and her retinue are _not_ in that direction."

The girl's eyes shone brighter than the jewels in the crown, Arthur noted. They were a luminous molten gold colour, richer and more lustrous than he could have imagined. The veil may have masked her face, but her eyes easily shone through the fabric.

Arthur turned _his_ eyes away. It was, he admitted to himself, understandable why Rosby was so entranced.

Arthur stepped even closer. His eyes met Lord Rosby's in a level gaze. "I think," he said as his shadow fell upon the hapless wretch. "It would be best if you were to return to the feast, _my lord,"_ his voice held contempt in the last two words. "The king will be expecting you." This was not entirely a lie. Rosby was a royal oaf and lickspittle.

Rosby stuttered. "I-" his bloodshot eyes bugged. "O- of course. Th-thank you, Ser."

He stumbled away, meaning to pull the maid with him, but Arthur stopped him dead. His hand tightened visibly around Dawn's hilt. "I think," he said quietly, dangerously. "That the Lady Seraena would notice if her handmaiden is missing."

Rosby swallowed. Eyes wide in fear and alert now, he hurried forwards, almost stumbling through the hedge in his haste to return the great hall.

"My lady?" Arthur asked more gently. "Are you alright?"

The girl turned towards him with her large eyes. "Yes, thank you, ser." Her voice was musical with a lilting accent.

Arthur nodded his head. "I apologise. Allow me to escort you to your lady's chambers," he said. He found it difficult to tear his eyes away from her hauntingly luminous and piercing ones.

* * *

A short while away, Seraena took something out. "This is a portkey." She said. Basically the portkey was nothing but a small bangle of silver shaped like a snake with emeralds for eyes. She had brought it as a curiosity item. "In all technicalities, a portkey could be made out of anything. I chose it to be a bracelet so I could easily carry it on my person." Although perhaps she should have made it out of something of less value, she decided. She would have to remedy that later.

"If I so choose, I could easily use this to transport me- and whoever my companion should be- back to Lys." She explained. Rhaegar's face appeared as if he were struggling to absorbing all this, whilst simultaneously being interested and excited. "When I learned I had magic, I tried everything I could to discover- or rather, rediscover all about the magic of the Valyrians."

His indigo eyes snapped up to meet her violet ones. "I could show you, if you like to learn," Seraena said quietly.

Rhaegar nodded mutely, his eyes wide.

"Here." Seraena activated the portkey. "Hold my hand, and place a finger on the bangle. Let go when I say it's time."

He took her hand, and they waited. Rhaegar frowned. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything the bangle glowed with blue light, emitting from between the scales, within the jewel eyes, and through the mouth of the silver snake. Then he felt the most peculiar sensation.

The world around him spun like a wheel and blurred into a blend of sounds and colours, before fading into nothing as he felt as if a hook had yanked him around his navel, pulling him through speeds so fast, there was no imagining. But just as quickly as he started, he heard Seraena's voice shouting at him to let go.

With difficulty Rhaegar pulled his finger away. He felt himself falling through the air, as if from a great height, but before he could land painfully on the ground, Seraena's hand caught his with surprising strength and righted him.

All around him the world appeared, like a painting being dropped onto empty black-painted walls only it was very real.

He felt Seraena pulling him down and realised that he was some distance from the ground indeed. She, however, was walking- or rather, floating- down to earth, and pulling him gently down with her.

It was then that he realised his surroundings were entirely unfamiliar.

For one thing it was warm, though not blisteringly so. The second thing was that the sound of the sea, waves crashing and lapping onto the shore was much clearer than it had been in the gardens of the Red Keep. The scent of fresh fruits and fragrant flowers perfumed the air. It was darker. Rhaegar blinked.

"Welcome to Lys," Seraena spoke softly. "My birthplace."

The waves crashed into the shore. "To be truthful, this isn't my family's manor. This is a private estate built for me, in order to keep me safe- and private, according to my parents." This was her haven and her relief. She showed Rhaegar through the gardens. "Some of these are ornamental, the rest are for practical use." Exquisite plants, trees, flowers and shrubs graced the gardens of the estate, inspired by the gardens in Beauxbatons. Date palms stood like sentries, guarding the front of the estate and sloping all the way to the white sands of the beach. It was due to Seraena's magic that all these plants brought over from so many places, were able to grow in this particular environment, she explained. The gardens were divided into numerous divisions. One large garden had yews, cedar and willow, fir, ash, hazel, hornbeam trees in one section and appeared more traditional.

Teak ornamented the area, while date palms circled the estate sloping to the beach.

It was paradise. It was wondrous. And Rhaegar turned wide eyes towards the woman he would marry on the morrow, wondering what their future together might bring.


	9. Chapter 9

**UPDATE: Okay. To all my good readers and supporters, I'm sorry, but I have to address this issue.**

 **First off, I'm not making any money or profit from this. the only reason I'm doing this is to stretch my creative writing abilities further, and because of those that offer me support and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.**

 **I have had it with the abuse, and I'm sick and tired. To all the haters, or rather, this one:**

 **iHateHotWeather123 :**

 **LISTEN UP, YOU UGLY LITTLE CUNT. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE. I DON'T SEE YOU WRITING, ESPECIALLY AFTER RECOVERING FROM HOSPITAL TREATMENTS WHILE HAVING TO MANAGE A HOTEL 24 HOURS SEVEN DAYS A WEEK. **

**SO WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO THREATEN AND ABUSE ME OVER A STUPID FUCKING STORY ON THE INTERNET? OR ANY OF THE _OTHER AUTHORS_ WHO HAVE GOTTEN IN TOUCH WITH ME AND COMPLAINED THE SAME THING- JUST BECAUSE WE DON'T SATISFY YOUR PORNOGRAPHIC TASTES- YES, I'VE BEEN TO YOUR PROFILE. IT'S TASTELESS PORN AND YOU _CAN'T EVEN WRITE._ YOU DON'T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES. **

**IF YOU DON'T LIKE OUR STORIES, THEN FOR FUCK'S SAKE, DON'T READ. CAN'T SAY IT ENOUGH. IT'S SIMPLE. DON'T HARASS THE AUTHORS. THIS ISN'T TOLERABLE ESPECIALLY AS WE ARE NOT DOING THIS FOR YOU! WE HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO, I HAVE A LIFE AND A JOB, I'M STILL IN RECOVERY, SO PEOPLE WHO HAVE LIVES TO LIVE ONLY ENTERTAIN YOU OUT OF THEIR OWN GOOD GRACES. YOU SHOULD BE THANKING US OR OFFER CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM RATHER THAN ACT LIKE THEY'RE THE KING OF THE WHOLE FUCKING WORLD.**

 **I DON'T NEED TO BE THREATENED OR ABUSED OVER A STUPID STORY ON THE INTERNET.**

 **To all the readers that do offer me support and constructive criticism, I am sorry for this ugly rant. I've tried blocking this 'author** ' **(note the quote marks, _please),_ and reporting for abuse on the site and review page. Obviously it didn't work.**

* * *

 **Disclaimer : You don't need me to say this. I'm obviously not making any money out of this.**

* * *

Seraena Veltaris, otherwise known as Gabrielle Delacour was too afraid to dream.

She lay in bed, staring at the unfamiliar arches of the ceiling and pondered the meaning of what she had experienced that day.

Cedric Diggory… Alive and in Westeros, the heir of a Lord Paramount. Two others… Possibly Harry's parents, possibly not.

Cedric Diggory had been a kind, compassionate, honourable and loyal person, based on what she had seen. If she hadn't been too busy blushing and feeling all warm, tingly and in awe over and around Harry (she blushed at her eight-to-eleven-year-old self- as Gabrielle), she might have even liked Cedric. But Gabrielle Delacour (thank goodness), was never the sort of person to fawn and drool over every boy that walked past, nor up to her. She'd fought and come dangerously close to losing her dignity and her sanity during her school years, and it was a hard-won battle. Seraena smiled grimly at the reminder. Life had taught her hard lessons.

In France, Gabrielle and Fleur were as different as night and day, Yin and Yang. They might have looked alike, were very close and shared blood, but both sisters had developed very differently. Yet they both had the same experiences. Ostracism, gossip, cruel and vicious rumours, pranks and being targeted. How many times did her homework get torn and her belongings taken and ripped, destroyed or displayed shamefully for her humiliation in front of the Great Hall. She still felt the heat when she remembered the time her diary went missing and saw Michelle holding it and reading out loud to a hilariously laughing audience… She remembered the times she panicked when she saw her homework was purposely ripped, torn, smudged, stolen or incinerated, along with her bag, ink bottles, quills, et cetera. Or the times she had ended up in the infirmary, hexed or jinxed, bruised, battered and bleeding- even burned. Luckily the teachers were sympathetic, but Seraena remembered the treatment had only gotten worse…

Especially in regards with boys. Boys and men. Her violet eyes darkened at the memories. Girls had been spiteful and envious in the treatment of her, to the point of sadistic, but the boys were crude, horrible, perverted and increasingly dangerous to be around. Especially if they were drunk or highly intoxicated. In the end, Madame Maxime (bless her), had heard. They had been suspended, even expelled. The parents had threatened (with death), Gabrielle, Fleur (in her time), their parents and so forth. This had been put in front of the Ministry, even. But fortunately, the Ministry in France was not so corrupt (or had de-corrupted itself by the time Gabrielle's tormentors were brought to trial), and they were punished.

But their argument was that the Veela-bitches should have known better than to show up in a school full of children and not expect anyone to react accordingly.

Fleur had fought, brave, fierce Fleur, determined not to give any more crumbs to the crows, and fought to prove herself the best to fight to become more than just 'eye-candy' a sex toy or worse. Gabrielle had been overwhelmed, as much as she hated to admit it. She had crumbled. She had been in and out of the infirmary not merely for physical injuries (that happened though), but shock, trauma, a nervous breakdown, depression and numerous issues. Her hands tightened around the bedcovers just thinking about the time those boys… It was a close call, far too close. She knew what would have happened if their Potions Master had not chosen to retreat to the Dungeons from the staff room a few minutes earlier. She would have been raped. And a Part-Veela… Well, Gabrielle had been shy, not like Fleur and Apolline. They were good at using beauty as their weapon and grace their armour. She just wanted to be left in peace.

Gabrielle had learnt a painful lesson by the time she graduated: never trust anyone and always watch your back. Especially if they were interested in you, or envious. Because they never truly wanted you. Ever. They only wanted to use you.

Fleur had been lucky to find Bill. She had succeeded. She may not have won the tournament but she had become a champion. She may not have killed Voldemort but she had fought in the war. Gabrielle had been eleven by the time the war ended. Fleur had just gotten married. Fleur had shown the world. She got the happy ending she deserved.

But why did it have to be Gaby that ended up in this world?

Seraena wondered… If she had been older… If she had been stronger… If she had been anything like Fleur… But her experiences had made it difficult to trust anyone, even Rhaegar Targaryen. She bit her lip.

Sitting up, she allowed her long silver hair to flow freely past her shoulders.

Rhaegar Targaryen was about to be her husband, whether she liked it or not. She had promised that she would give him the benefit of the doubt. She had also promised that should he prove… Unsavoury as did those boys in Beauxbatons, she would not stand for it.

She would never stand for it. Never again. Enough was enough. If, despite everything (she had experienced betrayal of trust before), Rhaegar betrayed her, she would disappear.

Seraena stood and walked over to the dressing table, her footsteps soft.

Her mirror showed her reflection, glowing eerily, in her eyes, in the moonlight. Lovely she might have been to the eyes of others, but Seraena had developed a habit of avoiding her own reflection whenever she could- unless she was preparing to look presentable (though with Karina she never looked anything less). Seraena opened the box sitting on the dressing table.

Inside were vials, some small bottles. Potions she had prepared herself.

Lady Saera had advised her to become pregnant as quickly as possible, and to bear as many sons as she could. But if Rhaegar Targaryen proved to be a man like the ones she had experienced, then she would not give a whit if she died a maid. Oh no. Seraena felt her lips twitch at the implication. How would they all love that? Her fingers trailed, ghostly pale, against the glass of one vial.

A contraceptive. A highly efficient one. To prevent pregnancy. She did not know what methods the Westerosi used, or the common Lyseni, but she knew this well enough. Highly effective, simple, easy to make, and much safer than anything the muggles could think of. If Rhaegar Targaryen was as unsavoury as the boys she had met, then she would not think twice of depriving him of herself or any heirs before 'dying.' Besides, she would not leave any child, especially if she was the mother, in a court of poisonous backstabbers and schemers. Or if she already had one or more, then they would leave with her. Let Westeros' feudal society burn to the ground. She would take her children with her. She would never abandon them. Ever.

On the other hand, if she did decide to stay… Her fingers strayed onto another bottle. She would have drink this… To ensure her safety and her survival. Seraena loathed the idea of conceiving a child- using a child- _her_ child no less- to ensure her survival in court, but her mother was right. She needed heirs to give to House Targaryen.

Seraena sighed and shut the case.

 _Time enough to decide,_ she thought wearily, slipping back into bed.

In hindsight, she should have taken a potion for Dreamless Sleep.

Because she had the same dream again.

* * *

Only this time, the images ran through faster in Seraena's mind. Not only the ice, the fire, the fire as green as the Killing Curse, Aerys on his throne, but something else entirely.

She saw amidst the ice a wall so high it could have been made of mountains. Only it was ice, and it could only have been carved through artifice- magic.

The ice and sleet blurred her vision, but she saw the image of a dog, a very large dog… No, it was a wolf. An extremely large wolf, and her heart leapt to her throat. The wolf's eyes were grey and striking.

The wolf had the shadow of a man.

There was a young couple nearby. They clasped each other's hands for comfort. Seraena could not make out their faces, but they stood in front of a forest of black, barren trees.

She was beginning to hate her dreams.

Fire rose to the sky, normal fire this time, well, if you could call an _inferno_ normal. It rose higher and Gaby felt the scorching heat. The fire stood in the shadow of a castle, large enough and burnt black, terrifying in the demonic light.

Seraena heard screeching in the distance. Screeching and roars of some animal.

A dragon, she thought. No, more than one.

She remembered the noises well enough. Gabrielle had befriended Bill's brother Charlie and shared his fascination, despite what had almost happened to Fleur, with dragons. She'd visited Romania enough and was even stationed there as a healer (for keepers and dragons). It felt like an adventure.

Fire washed over Gabrielle- no, Seraena- she was getting confused- but it wasn't painful. She relished it, basked in its warmth as it made her feel clean. She felt cleansed of everything foul and bad in her life. It gave her courage.

Seraena woke to Karina shaking her shoulder. Her handmaiden's breathtaking liquid gold eyes met hers beneath the veil she had hastily thrown on. It was time to prepare for the wedding.

She had undergone countless beauty treatments until she glowed and shone brighter than before- and that was saying something. The mixture Seraena had made was poured over her hair, after it was washed, and then brushed and combed until it drifted like pure silk. Her nails were trimmed, manicured and polished. Seraena didn't bother to keep track.

Whatever dreams she had had… They were no longer important. What mattered now was getting through this day and her life as Rhaegar Targaryen's wife.

She sighed as Karina tended to her hair gently. She loved the feel of Karina's fingers. But she knew her handmaiden did not deserve to spend the rest of her life tending to her. None of them did. Karina was also born free, and a lady to boot.

Seraena stood as Karina touched upon her wedding gown to ensure that no stitch of lace or jewel was out of place. The countless beauty treatments she had undergone for a fortnight consisted of bottles of cosmetic potions and charms to make her skin even more flawless, even more luminous, with a slight dusting of fairy powder to enhance her Veela glow. Her hair had been washed scented and styled with Apolline's old potion recipe and now cascaded in gentle waves and very loose curls, brushed past her shoulders and hanging past her waist. There was a rosy glow on her cheeks and lips, as if she had been out in the snow.

There wasn't really much anyone could do when they were part-Veela, Seraena thought wryly. It was one thing she was grateful for. She turned to change into the gown.

Seraena sighed. These past few days had seen moments of quiet bliss where she and Rhaegar would often ride together and he would show her the palace grounds and more of the city. But the kingsguard had been tripled and the king had insisted on keeping her on a tight leash- an exceptionally tight leash.

Imagine her surprise when several septas appeared after knocking on her door, apparently they had been sent here by order of the king and the recommendation of the High Septon- to teach her all there was about the Faith of the Seven. Seraena cursed her apparently complimentary words when she had visited the Great Sept. The High Septon had taken those words to heart and sought a way to keep the future queen under his leash, and the king took the opportunity to gave her more chaperones, guards and spies who would report back to him. Seraena had had to confund them in order to have some privacy. It was clear the king was paranoid! He was getting on her nerves!

She smelt fragrant by the time she and her handmaidens were finished, and she felt clean and fresh- and outrageously beautiful too. Her complexion outshone the moon, and the tiny fractures of light cast by glittering fairy dust not only added to her shimmering quality but accentuated her best features, including her fine, elegant cheekbones and the colour in her lips and cheeks. Her eyes appeared bigger, framed by her brows, her lashes thicker, longer and blacker. She was an ornament; a prize. I'm going to be a bride, she thought.

She fought the urge to grimace.

Fleur had been a bride. A joyful happy one. She'd had a happy marriage too. But Fleur had married for love. She knew Bill.

Seraena still couldn't get a clear idea of the man she was about to marry. Yes, he knew her secret, but what were his motives? Why would he keep such a secret? His own benefit?

What would happen to her?

It was unlikely, she thought as she changed, that Rhaegar would betray her to the Faith of the Seven. Nor intentionally make her secret public. He may wish to keep her gift by himself, and why then would he marry her? She doubted that even a prince would be protected if everyone suspected him of possessing magic powers.

* * *

Outside, the Red Keep was scrubbed so clean that the floors, ceilings and walls practically glittered. Rich tapestries decorated the walls, embroidered in gold and silver thread, the rushes in the Queen's Ballroom were fresh and sweet-smelling. Fresh flowers and herbs from Highgarden were strewn about or arranged in large vases imported from Myr, glazed and brightly painted; while trestle tables, large ones, were being scrubbed thoroughly with soap and lye; and countless ingredients were scrutinised, tasted and approved of, before being sent off into the kitchens and cellars.

Countless gifts had been sent to the capital: silks from Lys and Yi Ti, books from the Citadel in Oldtown, lace and glassware from Myr and tapestries too, and from Norvos as well, the best wines from Dorne and the Arbour. King's Landing was a mad flurry of activity planning the most lavish wedding in centuries. Not even the king's own marriage had been so grand.

People from all over the Seven Kingdoms and beyond were flocking to see her. Even the stiffest nobles were curious. Most of them were willing and eager to take advantage of her.

Seraena reminded herself that she was no helpless fool.

Part of her wanted to cringe and sink, hide within a box.

Another part reminded her she was- and remained- a Veela witch. She was also the blood of dragon-lords. She should not be afraid.

Today, she was a bride. Her wedding gown was made of the finest silk, pure white and simple but very beautiful and elegant. It had a very fitted bodice and a gently flared skirt with a train. The skirt was covered in places with rich but fine Myrish lace forming patterns like roses in bloom and myrtles, embroidered with pearls, crystals from Lys, and mother-of-pearl in ornate but delicate patterns. Mostly, the fine material simply showed but the lace and adornments were prevalent in the bodice, parts of the skirt and the hem. Karina nodded. "The veil." She said softly.

Seraena wanted something as a reminder of her old life. Lyseni did not wear cloaks for their wedding day, and neither did the Valyrians. But to show up with absolutely nothing (which she had) to indicate her status would be- as Queen Rhaella pointed out- be the subject of potentially damaging gossip to the Westerosi. She had decided upon a veil, woven by magic. It was beautiful, so white and clear it seemed to wink and float, iridescent in the sunlight, gossamer edged in Myrish lace. She'd always loved French lace. It was a reminder.

A knock on the door startled her. She nearly jumped. Jacaenor's voice sounded and Karina allowed him in.

He froze and inhaled sharply. Seraena was used to such a reaction, but not from him. He managed a smile. "For your wedding day. A gift from our parents."

He handed her a polished box inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, lay a tiara, richly glittering with moonstones and diamonds. _What?!_

Seraena froze. Fleur had worn such a tiara- on her wedding day. How was this possible? A similar tiara for her carried through time and space? She nearly shook as she took the box, her eyes doubtless, were massive.

Something or someone was responsible for this. The same one that was responsible for her rebirth surely. Her mind drifted to the Chief Lector in Egypt. Did he…

"It looks beautiful, but it dulls compared to you," Jacaenor said tenderly, as he with Karina's help, placed it on her head. "Thank you," she managed.

The door knocked. In came the ladies Queen Rhaella had chosen for her. They were Lady Ashara Dayne, Princess Elia Martell, Lady Mina Tyrell and Lady Lilian Tully- the one that looked like Harry's mother. And, the uneasy feeling returned, based on what she had found out…

Their reactions were, of course, predictable. Even the most sensible would gasp and lose their breaths (and their heads), over her appearance. Seraena simply smiled and pulled the veil over her face (not that it hid her completely).

They proceeded to the Red Keep in a palanquin which Seraena found bumpy and hated. Even horse-drawn carriages were better than these poor men lugging her around. But the streets of King's Landing were littered with holes and loose stones. A carriage would tip in no time, but experienced litter-bearers were less likely.

When it drew to a stop, the doors slid open and a knight (Ser Selmy quite possibly), helped her out. Seraena straightened, keeping her eyes lowered and wary so she would not trip, while all the reactions were doubtless predictable. She knew she should smile and wave, but she couldn't do anything, not right now. If she saw the crowd…

Stop this, she ordered herself firmly. _Remember who you are._

Those words echoed in her father's voice as she mounted the steps of the Great Sept.

She nearly started when Lady Ashara handed her a bouquet of flowers. The Dornish noblewoman smiled gently in reassurance as she stepped backwards. Seraena nodded mutely and turned to face the front as the doors swung open. Jacaenor, she dimly registered, was by her side. He had taken her hand.

Do brides typically feel like this? She wondered. Did Fleur and her mothers? Both of them? They entered into the Hall of Lamps, the bright, pulsing, eerie lights boring down upon her before they reached the main chamber. Again, the doors swung open and of course, their reaction was predictable, but even more intense than usual. Granted, she and Karina had taken special care of her appearance today.

Jacaenor gently gripped her hand and Seraena found herself back next to him once more. She felt as if she had been disconnected from her body, she had not realised it until then.

They glided down, past the others. It was an unbearably long walk. Seraena barely remembered to acknowledge everyone and thank heavens she did. A small smile and a gracious nod may seem trivial, but she could not afford to offend anyone, especially as a foreigner. Larra Rogare's story had been enough to warn her.

Finally they reached the space between the altars of the Father and the Mother, their giant statues inlaid with gems and staring down at them. Candles were placed on every altar, most especially these two today. Seraena stared at Rhaegar from beneath her veil.

Rhaegar stood, dark and magnificent in black leather boots and woollen trousers, doublet and cloak or tabard, lined with red silk and emblazoned with the Targaryen three-headed dragon in red, shining through the black. The High Septon stood directly behind him, a crown of crystal and spun gold flashing with colours in the sunlight. Rhaegar himself looked blown away at the sight of her, but afterwards blinked and gave her a smile of astonishment. She could only manage a small smile in return. Her knees had never felt so weak.

She'd faced the worst horrors, and there she was, afraid of marriage to this man. She could laugh at the absurdity.

The prayers began. The High Septon swung his censor full of incense, reminding her of the cathedrals in France. But there were no rings, no romantic words there and now. Instead seven blessings were given and seven songs in honour of the seven gods of Westeros, unknown and alien to her. Seven prayers were said, and seven vows uttered by the bride and groom right after Seraena had lifted her veil and Jacaenor had carefully unpinned it.

Rhaegar draped a cloak of black silk, the finest made, the three-headed Targaryen dragon in its centre, over her. The clasps were red-gold, fastened at her throat. It was done. She was married to him. She was a Targaryen.

She needed to let that sink in.

The septon pronounced them 'one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.'

Rhaegar pledged his love through a kiss on her lips, and the bells started tolling as the people cheered outside. It was finally over. Rhaegar took her hand and off they went.

A larger, grander litter borne by more men appeared. He helped her inside and Seraena almost sighed in relief as the doors shut.

She looked at her new husband. Rhaegar looked at her nervously, as if waiting for her reaction.

"I'm not going to bite you," she said. He let out a hearty laugh at that which surprised her.

"I almost said the exact same thing," he retorted as he chuckled. Before long, Seraena had to giggle too.

At least, she thought, this didn't seem so bad. But was it real and would it last? She asked herself that as they made it through the crowds (it had taken nearly an hour, due to the masses), to the Red Keep. Rhaegar stepped out first and helped her out. She felt the weight of her gown and jewels overwhelming her and she was happy to be back inside the castle, full of intrigue as it was.

Lady Ashara smiled. She wore a gown of lavender silk gossamer which revealed her every charm and brought out her eyes. She looked lovely, even more than when Seraena had first seen her. Princess Elia was in amber, edged and embroidered in gold. The two of them looked happy and surprisingly unenvious of her. It was remarkable. Any other girl would have hated her, especially in Beauxbatons.

"May we offer our congratulations, your graces?" Lady Ashara's eyes twinkled. Elia laughed. "Indeed."

Seraena smiled genuinely. "Thank you, Princess Elia, Lady Ashara. I am glad to have you both with me today. You as well, Lady Mina and Lady Lilian," she remembered the other two ladies.

They smiled, curtsying. It reminded her of the disturbing resemblance between Lady Lilian Tully and Lily Evans Potter. "Congratulations, your graces," Lilian Tully at least seemed genuine. But was she really? And what about Lady Mina Tyrell? Did she wish to take advantage of her? Did she want her dead and wished to take her place? The Lannister girl- Cersei- certainly did.

She did not wish to trouble and sour this early stage of her marriage with those thoughts, she decided. She had to get along with Rhaegar. He led her inside and her new ladies ushered her away to help her prepare for the feast. The smell in the city wasn't so foul today, though that was probably because they cleaned the road between the Keep and the Sept and strewn it with flowers and sweet-smelling herbs. Her new quarters consisted of a large suite, but Seraena had little time to examine it as she donned a gown of iridescent silk which first began as deep purple, before fading to lilac, rose and dark crimson, girdled with delicate silver chains. It was cool enough and much lighter than the heavy wedding gown she had worn. For now, she could relax and enjoy the party.

Outside, the gathering of lords and ladies greeted them. Mace Tyrell, the lord of Highgarden jumped eagerly to be the first to offer his congratulations. Lord Tywin was cordial, and Lord Arryn too. She and Rhaegar had greeted the lords as they arrived before the wedding, and he had taken the time to inform and introduce her to each and every single one of them.

She didn't know if she could love him, but she was grateful to him for being there and for being a friend. Queen Rhaella kissed her, smiling happily.

Rhaegar smiled her and she had to admit she liked the way his eyes and smile lit up when he saw her. "Prince Rhaegar," she greeted. "Or is it just..." She trailed off teasingly. Rhaegar grinned. He kissed her. "I think you know what it is." He smirked. Cheers resounded through the crowd. They were already drunk or really.

"Shall we?" He extended his arm with a smile, and Seraena took it, also smiling. The two strode to the Great Hall amidst roars of approval and cheers bouncing off the walls.

* * *

Inside was amply decorated with garlands and wreaths, vases of flowers and ribbons. People stood when they entered, and a fanfare blew. Outside, more people flocked and cheered, like they did when she first arrived at the sept, calling blessings down upon them, and growing more rambunctious by the free food and wine Seraena and Rhaella had ordered distributed out towards the populace. Today was a day of celebration for them, and Seraena knew it was the start of something she had never experienced in both lives.

As soon as they were seated servitors entered, bearing platters, plates, bowls, trays and goblets of pure gold and silver, crystal, gorgeously engraved and inlaid with gems, like amethysts, rubies, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds.

It was lavish and spectacular, to say the least. Dishes from all over the Seven Kingdoms and Essos were in display. Seraena suspected Aerys decided to go all out to show their wealth and power, and the success of this union to come. It was beyond lavish.

A dish from the Reach, of baked rosemary bread, or sops- bread fried with sweet butter and studded with flowers was presented to her. Seraena eyed it curiously.

"Best eat small quantities and slowly," Rhaegar whispered to her. "There will be many courses to come."

"How many?" She whispered.

"Probably seventy-seven." He answered. Seraena was stunned. Seventy-seven? And Fleur complained about the food at Hogwarts' feasts?

Thinking about Fleur, her first family in France and the one in Lys sent a pang through her heart. She forced herself to focus on the here and now.

A Dornish dish of flatbread, tender as a cloud, olives stuffed with goat cheese, oysters sauteed in olive oil with a squeeze of lemon juice on top was set in front of them. Crusty, hot pumpkin bread sprinkled with seeds from the Vale of Arryn; trenchers of meats spiced with pepper, garlic, onions and wrapped in bacon from the Riverlands; bits of bacon in a wine sauce spiced with honey and cloves with roasted vegetables from Lord Steffon's home; roasted quail basted in honey, cherries and cloves from the Westerlands; and roasted pork soaked in honey, raisins and cider from the North.

It seemed as if Aerys wanted everyone to eat their way through the seven kingdoms, Seraena thought as a harpist and a singer took the stage. It was a beautiful ballad and melody about two lovers in Valyria. But it was sung in High Valyrian and thus, few people could enjoy it.

She took Rhaegar's advice and merely sampled everything. It was a good thing too, because everyone carried the food around for all to share, so everyone took what they wanted, and they all had appetites this day.

Seraena spotted Tywin Lannister speaking with his son Jaime about something, his twin by his side. Lord Tywin's daughter would surely grow to be one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms, with hair shining like spun gold, eyes as green as emeralds and striking classical features as finely chiselled as a porcelain dolls with perfect skin. Yet there was a proud haughtiness in her face, a scowl to boot which marred her looks. She was certainly dressed to impress, Seraena thought. Eating bits of rosemary and pumpkin bread with her long fingers, she would surely captivate any man who would dream of her feeding them. Cersei Lannister wore a rich gown of deep crimson velvet with thread-of-gold embroidered on her brocade sleeves and rubies.

By Gabrielle Delacour's standards, she was too young to be drinking. Especially in such a heavy amount.

Seraena had been so deep into her own thoughts she was almost startled when the next course came up. This one had a bigger portion than the first, but still not big for a main course. Delicate pastries, fresh from the ovens, stuffed with a filling of eggs, herbs and pork mince made by some Reachman; crabs boiled with fiery spices laid in a bed of leaves inspired by Dorne's food; pheasant with wine sauce and wild mushrooms, spinach and thyme made by Stormlander cooks; grilled trout poached in Arbour gold, truffles and peach sauce, a dish recommended by Lord Tully; walnut pastries sprinkled with cloves and cinnamon made by Lord Arryn's cook. Wild boar ribs in a sauce of honeyed wine- no doubt hunted by some Lannister kinsman of Lord Tywin's arrived in a blaze of glory while lamb baked in a crust of herbs and garlic, garnished with mint- all in the Northern style was presented regally but appeared more modest and less flamboyant.

The crabs reminded Seraena of home- of Lys. Despite her missing France, she also considered Lys her home. She did miss her mother with her constant fussing and crooning, even remembering the times she combed her hair. She missed her father with his calm, comforting presence that promised safety and warmth. She missed Aeramor and his peals of laughter, the merriment making the air around him shine, and his affectionate, gentle teasing, though he always looked out for her. She missed Belaegor, solemn and reserved, even distant as he was at times, though he always had a smile, and a warm and gentle word for her. And she would certainly miss Jacaenor when he left.

Seraena thought about the gentle waves of Lys, crashing softly on white sandy shores, lulling her to sleep, the fragrance of fruit trees and flowers, the sound of lavender water trickling from marble fountains. She smiled ruefully as she took a pastry. It was too late. She had to play her part or offend everyone.

The king clearly needed to impress. She didn't know how many courses there were, but she was nevertheless, irritated. If Fleur had complained about English food being too heavy, she needed to taste a bite of this. It was all delicious, and Fleur had been exaggerating, but Seraena knew the Westerosi were just too lavish in regards with their banquets.

 _I don't need any more strain on this night,_ she thought. But she remembered the bedding ceremony- where the men would strip the bride naked, and the women would do the same to the groom, and they would carry- or drag- them to the marriage bed. She was no stranger to being gawked at, but the shock of having strangers strip and laying their hands on her person had made her pale and quiver.

 _If only I could do something about that..._

Her thoughts and plans flew out the window with the arrival of the next course. The next song came as well, a Myrish song but in the Common Tongue. And if it wasn't dessert, at least Seraena could be thankful for putting off the bedding ceremony. It was a salad course, and but strangely, salads must've been as common as horses in Westeros.

Why else would they have spinach, chickpeas and turnips in butter made by some Northern cook? Or sweet pumpkins, radishes, spinach leaves and apple slices, generously supplied by Lord Arryn, covered with shavings of nutmeg and cloves? Or that sweetgrass salad garnished with rose petals, and grapes, courtesy of that plump Lord of Highgarden? _Or_ the Riverland greens, plums and raisins by an overly helpful 'Fish-Lord?' And Lord Lannister didn't appear stingy either, despite his stern demeanour, because he must've been responsible for at least lending the cook who supplied them the recipe for herbs, cherries and potato salad, tossed in some brandy sauce? At least the salad course was lighter, but by the time Seraena had eaten her portion of Dornish eggs flavoured with dragon-peppers, and a salad of greens, aromatic herbs, radishes and raisins, flavoured with lemon and orange slices, she had had more than enough.

Then she spotted the wine carried by servitors and she formulated a plan.

Seraena silently drew her wand beneath the table and confounded the servitors and many of the guests. _"Accio sleeping potion,"_ she murmured softly.

Seraena knew which wines would be served later. She beckoned Karina over. As the Lengish lady bent down, Seraena discreetly caught the bottle in her hand. She had plenty of practice in Romania.

"Please place this in the wines for dessert," she whispered. Karina smiled beneath her veil. No one would notice.

"At the climax there will be a wedding pie," Rhaegar informed her. "A pie?" What was wrong with a _cake?_

It may not be lighter, but knowing Westerosi and their love of pies...

The next one was filled with stews and meats. Lamb basted with honey, cherries and cloves inspired by Highgarden's cuisine; suckling pig with apples and turnips, taught by Westerlander coinnoiseurs, no doubt. A stew of beef, pease, garlic and onion which Riverlanders must've loved. A hearty Northern stew of pork, onions and capon; a pie stuffed with spiced squash, cheese, red fennel and pigeons, with ingredients from the Vale. The Stormlanders must've loved their meats too, judging by the amount of aurochs steaks there were, with radishes, herbs and honeyed apples. On the other hand, if this feast was helpful in geography at all, it was in realising that the Dornish loved their spices, judging by the fiery tastes that exploded on her tongue: of mustard seeds, dragon peppers, diced onions, oranges and lemon squeezed onto grilled lamb. This course wasn't so bad, but Seraena was sick and tired of having to make a show of enjoying and appreciating the food (without appearing to stuff herself), all the while trying to keep room for more. She was already feeling stuffed just watching people eat.

 _What are the crowds eating?_ She wondered. _Are they feasting too on this day? Or is it just us?_

The thought made her angry, that she willingly participated in and caused such a thing and who paid for this feast? The poor would go hungry before long.

Rhaegar pushed away his cup of wine. He did not wish to appear drunk tonight. Seraena could have kissed him for that alone. He smiled when he saw her watching him. "The food isn't too heavy, I hope?" He asked.

Seraena forced a smile. "I... Well, I've had lighter," she admitted truthfully. "I shall not need to eat for days to come," she informed him bluntly.

Rhaegar couldn't help the snort that burst from him. "At least someone had the right idea of preventing seventy-seven courses- with each dish from the Seven Kingdoms- from taking place in this banquet." He smirked.

Seraena stared. "Seventy-seven courses?" She whispered. "By the gods, how much food do you consume in Westeros? The books mentioned nothing on this!"

She would grow fat before long. Fleur had absolutely no reason to complain after feasting in Hogwarts. Not even at Christmas.

Again, Rhaegar could not help his laughter. "At least you've read all you need to know," he pointed dryly.

"At least I've learned that Dorne likes its spices, the North needs little of those, and the Vale of Arryn certainly has gourds that grow aplenty there," she pointed in return.

Rhaegar grinned. "See? A geography lesson."

"Through cuisine," Seraena watched as they wheeled in the dessert course- and she could've kissed someone for that. But she watched as a massive pie was wheeled in along with the sweets. And by massive, she meant MASSIVE. It was almost as large as a table itself, and not a small table.

Squeaks, thumps and other sounds emanated from the pie. Seraena stared.

"Come," Rhaegar offered her a hand.

Everyone, she could see, were stuffed. There was Cersei Lannister, scowling at something her father was saying as he glared sternly at her. There was Mina Tyrell in apple green with flowers of golden brocade talking with her mother and sister Janna. Ashara Dayne quieted her laughter and was eying the wedding couple and pie excitedly while not far away Elia Martell was speaking to a handsome dark-haired young man. Lilian Tully was speaking with Jacelyn Baratheon and one of the Stark siblings, but pulled away as soon as eyes were on her.

That same nervousness came forth. Was Lilian Tully who she thought she was?

Someone handed the prince a large knife- no, that was a sword. Rhaegar guided her hand and together they cut through the pie.

A cloud of birds burst forth. There were pigeons and doves, skylarks, songbirds and nightingales, sparrows and bluejays and a great parrot. The guests cheered and marvelled at the sight. Seraena knew Muggles didn't have magic, even to make the birds appear in her pie. Her mind wandered a lifetime away, at the Burrow in England, where Fleur's wedding cake had a pair of phoenixes joyfully taking flight when the cake was cut. Her heart constricted in sadness and pain, that Fleur, Aeramor, Belaegor, her first and second parents were not there to ease her loneliness and entry into this new life. This was her wedding day, yet it was infinitely more lavish and far more different than she had imagined it. In her first life, she had never given much thought into marriage, but if she would have dreamed of a ceremony it would've been like Fleur's. Simple, intimate, filled with family, friends and magic, all the guests ready to share and partake in their joy. Not for the privilege of witnessing pomp and pageantry or to view and grope her naked body.

Seraena took a deep breath. If the instructions she gave Karina were followed, then there was little to fear. They would not see her naked, much less grope her.

No, _never_ again would she suffer the same abuse as in Beauxbatons. After her breakdown, Madame Maxime had had to stun her in order to prevent her from killing herself.

Part of Seraena wished she had killed the ones who abused her. They certainly deserved it.

Lemon cakes were brought, powdered with sugar and figs stuffed with almonds, the main ingredients fresh from Dorne. Baked, honeyed apples from the Reach; light airy puddings from the Vale of Arryn, like clouds covered in cinnamon sugar with plums and icing; spiced honey biscuits and blackberry tarts in cream which the North were accustomed to. And there were more: a tart stuffed with raspberries and garnished with sugar and mint, popular in the Riverlands; oatcakes drizzled with honey and cherries with a glass of red wine, which Lord Steffon smiled at. Peaches in Arbour gold and a sweet pie of quinces and peaches from the west, powdered in sugar. And there were sweet summer strawberries, blood oranges, pomegranates, quinces, apples, figs and pears besides. Seraena needed to admit it: she had a sweet tooth. But it would certainly be another lifetime when she next sampled chocolate. Now that was truly sad, she smiled to herself.

Tumblers, jesters, sword-swallowers, fire-jugglers and more accompanied the dessert and the singers. A theatre troupe set up a stage, audiences were laughing and calling for more wine. The more reasonable and sensible had gone off to bed, but the dessert was not yet over. The ones waiting for the bedding had remained and there were still plenty.

Jacaenor walked over. "A gift, from myself and my brothers, Belaegor and Aeramor." He beckoned it with his hand. "May I?"

Rhaegar nodded. "By all means, Lord Jacaenor."

Jacaenor strode forwards and announced: "To my lovely sister and her new husband, for their own purposes." He opened it with a flourish.

Everyone sober enough gasped. Inside, lay three huge eggs, the most beautiful objects Seraena had ever seen. They were so huge they required two hands to hold one, at first she thought they were crusted with jewels, patterned in such rich colours as they were, they seemed to be made out of fine porcelain, delicate enamel or even blown glass, but they were heavier than that, as if made of polished stone. The surfaces were covered with tiny scales, and as Seraena picked one up, they shimmered like polished metal. One egg was a deep green with burnished bronze flecks that came and went depending on how she turned it, another a pale cream streaked with gold. The last egg was black, black as a midnight sea, yet alive with scarlet ripples and swirls.

"Dragon eggs," Jacaenor murmured. "I hope this gift pleases you."

Seraena stared, speechless at her own brother. She could feel Rhaegar doing the same. Dragon eggs. Her brothers had given them dragon eggs.

Jacaenor was smiling. Seraena held up one of the eggs- the black one. She could feel everyone's gaze on her and the eggs. King Aerys was watching so intently, his gaze looked hard and brittle, near-to-shattering as it was. His hands gripped the sides of his chair tightly. He was breathing heavily, almost a wheeze.

His eyes were fixed on the egg. The black egg. And her.

* * *

 _In Lys…_

Aeramor Veltaris was the only brother left in Lys. Belaegor had left for somewhere, Aeramor didn't know and he didn't care.

The second Veltaris brother was, unlike Jacaenor and Belaegor, quite comfortable and happy in Lys. He never saw the need to wander.

Especially not now. "Are you sure about this?" Drazenko II Rogare asked.

Aeramor inclined his head. "I am certain. Six hundred-and-fifty in Lyseni gold and a quantity of gems for your own daughter's personal use, once she becomes my wife. Close ties between House Veltaris and House Rogare will benefit us all. Especially when it comes to the bank." Drazenko's eyes widened ever-so-slightly. "An alliance with House Targaryen will not benefit you. I am aware that my sister has married the Crown Prince, but as much as I adore her, in fact, because I adore her, I wish not to make things difficult for either of us. Our situations are precarious as it is, and is about to become somewhat difficult. The Westerosi will be highly suspicious of a foreign bride. They are certainly contemptuous of bankers, in spite of their need for gold."

Drazenko scowled. "You don't have to remind me." A member of his family had after all, married into House Targaryen, during the Lyseni Spring.

"No, I understand." Aeramor bowed his head. "But, to my sorrow, I must be frank with you: any association with House Targaryen and House Rogare will ignite suspicions and pesky rumours that you are trying to gain as much power in Westeros as well as gold. Untrue and unnecessary. I think we all understand, you prefer it so much more in Lys. Here, you have everything- except that the Lyseni Spring is over. And your namesake Drazenko the First, and Lysandro the Magnificent are long-gone. We all know, when it is time to rebuild. Rebuild, and start from scratch so that someday we can rise in power once again- without anyone interfering from Westeros, might I add. But you need help- we all do, even the best of us." Aeramor's eyes were fixed onto Drazenko's. "I propose an alliance: an alliance between my branch of House Veltaris and House Rogare. And if you don't think that one branch is enough on its own, you have yet to see what I can do.

"But I suggest you make up your mind and soon. Because once my brother Jacaenor returns from Westeros, he is heading straight to Braavos, and is betrothed into a powerful family there who are not only keyholders, but number among the very powerful in Essos, and they have put their complete trust in him. So much trust, that they intend him to become a permanent fixture in Braavos and the Iron Bank have become one of his greatest supporters." Drazenko froze and then his eyes narrowed. Aeramor did not take his off his prospective good-father's. "He is gaining wealth, influence and power as we speak, and not only the Iron Bank, but the Sealord of Braavos, their magisters and the majority of their keyholders have given their support. Several prominent courtesans for all I know." He scoffed. "My siblings and I have always known that we were meant to walk different paths that lead away from one another. My branch of our line will stay in Lys. I have no intention of giving my support to the Iron Bank as the gods know that they are thriving enough as it is, with Jacaenor supporting them. Why else would the oh-so-secretive and successful Iron Bank, the Sealord and the keyholders and magisters of Braavos have given him such influence, such trust, if they weren't certain of his abilities?"

Aeramor allowed Drazenko to mull this over. He was sure that Jacaenor would be doing similar things, though thankfully, none of them would ever jeopardise their sister's position- as vulnerable and new as she was to it- by making alliances with the ever-so-pompous Westerosi. Bad enough she had to marry one of them, but she was fit to be a queen, Aeramor could not deny that.

Aeramor also couldn't deny that House Veltaris had more than enough wealth to fund countless families that were bankrupt, like the Rogares. House Rogare was not what it once was. But Aeramor could change that. Drazenko knew it too, it was only a matter of time. He was his father's primary heir in Lys, with Jacaenor on his way to Braavos and Belaegor going to whatever forsaken lands he was headed to.

Aeramor was a beautiful man, with classical features of the Ancient Valyrians: straight, thin nose, perfectly proportioned chin and jaw, high cheekbones, elegant as could be, and slightly rounded eyes that were somewhere between lilac and violet, his eyebrows and lashes dark, thick and long, like his sister's. Long, slender and graceful neck and hands added to features of refinement and delicately arched eyebrows gave a Patrician appearance, along with his high forehead. Today his long silver-gold locks in loose curls fell slightly past his shoulder and brushed out, dissolving into a soft, voluminous cloud. He was a catch for a family as renowned and formerly as esteemed as the Rogares and he knew it. Normally, he would stay well-away from anyone and anything that had something to do with the Targaryens- even if it was a long-forgotten alliance- but now times were changing: his brother was picking up and building prestige, power, influence and wealth in Braavos. His sister was going to be a queen in Westeros someday, the wife of a man who ruled seven kingdoms and Aeramor had absolutely no intention of shaming the family legacy.

There was silence for a long moment as Drazenko Rogare II looked hard at him. "Are you sure you can restore our family to its former glory?" He laughed harshly.

Aeramor only gave a small, but sinister smile in response, warning him not to test him.

Drazenko sighed. "Very well, then." He stood. "My daughter Lerasha Rogare, shall be your wife. Aeramor stood with him and they clasped hands.

It was done.

House Rogare and House Veltaris- or rather, Aeramor's branch, would be united. He would give the Rogare family back its wealth and prestige and a degree of influence unseen and unheard of since the Lyseni Spring and the days of Lysandro the Magnificent. They would give him their whole-hearted support, crowd around him as if to protect him, and continue his branch of the family by ensuring one of their own daughters would be the mother of his children.

Jacaenor and Belaegor would be off, finding their own branches of House Veltaris, no doubt. It was time Aeramor did the same, even though fortunes may yet pit brother against brother.

 _Let's hope that Seraena will stay out of this,_ Aeramor thought. Seraena wad wed, Jacaenor nearly so, and he himself had a betrothal to formalise.

He had his future. Jacaenor, Seraena and even Belaegor likely had one too.

Aeramor had no intention of being considered weak or less renowned and powerful. His siblings were already building their power bases. Belaegor was bound for Asshai whether their parents liked it or not. Him and his Red Priestess had decided to go so he may learn 'the ways of the Lord of Light.' Personally Aeramor preferred to distance himself as far as possible from such persons, especially if one was his brother. He would rather not damage his reputation amongst potential and existing clients.

Before long, few people would remember that they had met, let alone shared blood. From then on, each sibling was on their own


End file.
